A generation -- swords are their teeth, And knives -- their jaw-teeth, To consume the poor from earth, And the needy from among men.

A rejoicing heart doth good to the body, And a smitten spirit drieth the bone.

The light of the eyes rejoiceth the heart, A good report maketh fat the bone.

Sayings of pleasantness are a honeycomb, Sweet to the soul, and healing to the bone.

By long-suffering is a ruler persuaded, And a soft tongue breaketh a bone.

Healing it is to thy navel, And moistening to thy bones.

A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband, And as rottenness in his bones is one causing shame.

A healed heart is life to the flesh, And rottenness to the bones is envy.