For a graceful wreath are they to thy head, And chains to thy neck.

If they say, 'Come with us, we lay wait for blood, We watch secretly for the innocent without cause,

For their feet to evil do run, And they haste to shed blood.

And they for their own blood lay wait, They watch secretly for their own lives.

Then they call me, and I do not answer, They seek me earnestly, and find me not.

Because that they have hated knowledge, And the fear of Jehovah have not chosen.

They have not consented to my counsel, They have despised all my reproof,

And they eat of the fruit of their way, And from their own counsels they are filled.

Who are rejoicing to do evil, They delight in frowardness of the wicked,

Whose paths are crooked, Yea, they are perverted in their ways.

None going in unto her turn back, Nor do they reach the paths of life.

For length of days and years, Life and peace they do add to thee.

And they are life to thy soul, and grace to thy neck.

For they sleep not if they do not evil, And their sleep hath been taken violently away, If they cause not some to stumble.

For they have eaten bread of wickedness, And wine of violence they drink.

The way of the wicked is as darkness, They have not known at what they stumble.

For life they are to those finding them, And to all their flesh healing.

They do not despise the thief, When he stealeth to fill his soul when he is hungry,

And now, ye sons, hearken to me, Yea, happy are they who keep my ways.

Overthrow the wicked, and they are not, And the house of the righteous standeth.

Do not they err who are devising evil? And kindness and truth are to those devising good,

The words of a tale-bearer are as self-inflicted wounds, And they have gone down to the inner parts of the heart.

All the brethren of the poor have hated him, Surely also his friends have been far from him, He is pursuing words -- they are not!

The spoil of the wicked catcheth them, Because they have refused to do judgment.

For they are pleasant when thou dost keep them in thy heart, They are prepared together for thy lips.

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

Whoso is devising to do evil, Him they call a master of wicked thoughts.

The words of a tale-bearer are as self-inflicted wounds, And they have gone down to the inner parts of the heart.

A stone is heavy, and the sand is heavy, And the anger of a fool Is heavier than they both.

The prudent hath seen the evil, he is hidden, The simple have passed on, they are punished.

Four are little ones of earth, And they are made wiser than the wise:

The ants are a people not strong, And they prepare in summer their food,

Conies are a people not strong, And they place in a rock their house,