But, the latter end of her, is bitter as wormwood, sharp, as a two-edged sword!

So shalt thou grieve in thy latter end, in the failing of thy flesh and of thy healthy condition;

For, in the window of my house, through my lattice, I looked out;

Passing through the street, near her corner, and, on the way to her house, he sauntered along;

Much food, is in the fallow ground of the poor, but there is that is swept away, for want of justice.

Even, in laughter, the heart may be in pain, and, the latter end of gladness, be grief.

Sparing of his words, is one who valueth knowledge, and, of a thoughtful spirit, is a man of intelligence.

Coverlets, she maketh for herself, Of white linen and of purple, is her clothing: