Ilimilku the Scribe · a new plain-English translation from the original language
'When you struck down Litan, the fleeing serpent —
when you finished off the twisting serpent,
the tyrant of seven heads —
the heavens will wither and go slack like the folds
of your robe: I myself will devour you in fistfuls(?) —
gobbets(?), forearms and all(?). Down you will surely go
into the throat of the son of the gods, Mot — into the go-
rge of the Beloved of El, the Hero.'
The gods departed; they did not sit down. Then
indeed they set their faces toward Baal
on the heights of Sapan. And Ga-
pn-and-Ugar spoke: 'Message of the son of the gods,
Mot — word of the Beloved of the son of El,
the Hero: My appetite is the appetite of the lion
of the wasteland — or the craving of the whale(?)
in the sea; or it goes to the pool, hunting
wild oxen — to the spring, after the herds(?) of deer.
Or truly, truly my appetite devours
in heaps; truly I eat in double
handfuls — yes, seven
portions are mine on the platter, and my cup mixes
a whole river! Invite me, Baal, with
my brothers; summon me, Haddu, with my kin —
to eat food with my brothers,
and to drink wine with [my] brothe[rs.]
Have you forgotten, Baal, that I can surely [pie]rce you
. . . [. . .] . . . — that when you struck down
[Litan,] [the] [fle]eing [serpent,] finished off
[the twisting] [serpent,] the tyrant
[of seven] [hea]ds, the heavens withered
[and went slack] [like the folds] [of] your [robe?]'