Merrily people make bread, and, wine, gladdeneth life, - but, money, answereth all things.

Even in thy thought, do not revile, the king, nor, within thy bed-chambers, revile thou the rich, - for, a bird of the heavens, might carry the voice, yea, an owner of wings, might tell the matter.

Cast thy bread-corn, upon the face of the waters, - for, after many days, shalt thou find it:

And the doors in the street be closed, when the sound of the mill become low, - and one rise at the chirp of a small bird, and low-voiced be all the daughters of song;