She cries at the gates, at the entry of the city, at the entrance at the doors.

Blessed is the man that hears me, watching daily at my gates, waiting at the posts of my doors.

Remove your way far from her, and come not near the door of her house:

For she sits at the door of her house, on a seat in the high places of the city,

As the door turns upon its hinges, so does the slothful upon his bed.