My son! if thou hast been surety for thy friend, Hast stricken for a stranger thy hand,
Hast been snared with sayings of thy mouth, Hast been captured with sayings of thy mouth,
Do this now, my son, and be delivered, For thou hast come into the hand of thy friend. Go, trample on thyself, and strengthen thy friend,
Give not sleep to thine eyes, And slumber to thine eyelids,
Be delivered as a roe from the hand, And as a bird from the hand of a fowler.
Go unto the ant, O slothful one, See her ways and be wise;
Which hath not captain, overseer, and ruler,
She doth prepare in summer her bread, She hath gathered in harvest her food.
Till when, O slothful one, dost thou lie? When dost thou arise from thy sleep?
A little sleep, a little slumber, A little clasping of the hands to rest,
And thy poverty hath come as a traveller, And thy want as an armed man.
A man of worthlessness, a man of iniquity, Walking `with' perverseness of mouth,
Winking with his eyes, speaking with his feet, Directing with his fingers,
Frowardness `is' in his heart, devising evil at all times, Contentions he sendeth forth.
Therefore suddenly cometh his calamity, Instantly he is broken -- and no healing.
These six hath Jehovah hated, Yea, seven `are' abominations to His soul.
Eyes high -- tongues false -- And hands shedding innocent blood --
A heart devising thoughts of vanity -- Feet hasting to run to evil --
A false witness `who' doth breathe out lies -- And one sending forth contentions between brethren.
Keep, my son, the command of thy father, And leave not the law of thy mother.
Bind them on thy heart continually, Tie them on thy neck.
In thy going up and down, it leadeth thee, In thy lying down, it watcheth over thee, And thou hast awaked -- it talketh `with' thee.
For a lamp `is' the command, And the law a light, And a way of life `are' reproofs of instruction,
To preserve thee from an evil woman, From the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman.
Desire not her beauty in thy heart, And let her not take thee with her eyelids.
For a harlot consumeth unto a cake of bread, And an adulteress the precious soul hunteth.
Doth a man take fire into his bosom, And are his garments not burnt?
Doth a man walk on the hot coals, And are his feet not scorched?
So `is' he who hath gone in unto the wife of his neighbour, None who doth touch her is innocent.
They do not despise the thief, When he stealeth to fill his soul when he is hungry,
And being found he repayeth sevenfold, All the substance of his house he giveth.
He who committeth adultery `with' a woman lacketh heart, He is destroying his soul who doth it.
A stroke and shame he doth find, And his reproach is not wiped away,
For jealousy `is' the fury of a man, And he doth not spare in a day of vengeance.
He accepteth not the appearance of any atonement, Yea, he doth not consent, Though thou dost multiply bribes!