When thou sittest to eat with a ruler, Thou considerest diligently that which `is' before thee,

And thou hast put a knife to thy throat, If thou `art' a man of appetite.

Have no desire to his dainties, seeing it `is' lying food.

Labour not to make wealth, From thine own understanding cease, Dost thou cause thine eyes to fly upon it? Then it is not.

For wealth maketh to itself wings, As an eagle it flieth to the heavens.

Eat not the bread of an evil eye, And have no desire to his dainties,

For as he hath thought in his soul, so `is' he, `Eat and drink,' saith he to thee, And his heart `is' not with thee.

Thy morsel thou hast eaten thou dost vomit up, And hast marred thy words that `are' sweet.

In the ears of a fool speak not, For he treadeth on the wisdom of thy words.

Remove not a border of olden times, And into fields of the fatherless enter not,

For their Redeemer `is' strong, He doth plead their cause with thee.

Bring in to instruction thy heart, And thine ear to sayings of knowledge.

Withhold not from a youth chastisement, When thou smitest him with a rod he dieth not.

Thou with a rod smitest him, And his soul from Sheol thou deliverest.

My son, if thy heart hath been wise, My heart rejoiceth, even mine,

And my reins exult when thy lips speak uprightly.

Let not thy heart be envious at sinners, But -- in the fear of Jehovah all the day.

For, is there a posterity? Then thy hope is not cut off.

Hear thou, my son, and be wise, And make happy in the way thy heart,

Be not thou among quaffers of wine, Among gluttonous ones of flesh,

For the quaffer and glutton become poor, And drowsiness clotheth with rags.

Hearken to thy father, who begat thee, And despise not thy mother when she hath become old.

Truth buy, and sell not, Wisdom, and instruction, and understanding,

The father of the righteous rejoiceth greatly, The begetter of the wise rejoiceth in him.

Rejoice doth thy father and thy mother, Yea, she that bare thee is joyful.

Give, my son, thy heart to me, And let thine eyes watch my ways.

For a harlot `is' a deep ditch, And a strange woman `is' a strait pit.

She also, as catching prey, lieth in wait, And the treacherous among men she increaseth.

Who hath wo? who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? who hath plaint? Who hath wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes?

Those tarrying by the wine, Those going in to search out mixed wine.

See not wine when it showeth itself red, When it giveth in the cup its colour, It goeth up and down through the upright.

Its latter end -- as a serpent it biteth, And as a basilisk it stingeth.

Thine eyes see strange women, And thy heart speaketh perverse things.

And thou hast been as one lying down in the heart of the sea, And as one lying down on the top of a mast.

`They smote me, I have not been sick, They beat me, I have not known. When I awake -- I seek it yet again!'