Chapter 12

Ever the friend of admonition is the friend of knowledge; only fools are impa-tient of warning.

A kindly man wins the Lord’s favour, a schemer is his enemy.

Wickedness shall never thrive; the just have roots immovable.

Crowned is his brow, who wins a vigorous wife; sooner let thy bones rot than marry one who shames thee.

Honourable thoughts the just conceive, the wicked are all double-dealing;

yet, when the accusations of the wicked lay a fatal snare, the just shall find words to deliver them.

A turn in their fortunes, and no more is heard of the wicked; only the just have abiding prosperity.

Good sense is the measure of a man’s repute; fond fancies are ever despised.

Better be poor, and toil to support thyself, than play the great lord with an empty belly.

A just man cares for the safety of the beasts he owns; the wicked are heartless through and through.

Till field and fill belly; idle pursuits are but foolishness. (Sit long enjoying thy wine, and there is no strong fortress will win thee renown.1)

In unholy ambitions the wicked put their trust, but it is honesty that strikes deep root.

Ruin comes upon the sinner for a word spoken amiss, while honest men find acquittal.

When a man is blessed, it is his own words that bear fruit; never son of Adam but had the lot his deeds deserved.

A fool is ever right to his own thinking; the wise listen to advice.

Fools betray anger on the instant, when prudence would pass the insult by.

Nothing but his honest thought a lover of truth declares, a false witness nothing but lies.

Rash promises can stab the heart with remorse;2 wise words bring healing.

Lips that speak the truth shall fade never; a lie serves but the haste of the moment.

The schemer’s thoughts dwell ever on treachery; for peace be all thy plotting, if thou wouldst have a contented heart.

Nothing can befall the just man to do him hurt; the wicked shall have their fill of mischief.

Lying lips the Lord cannot abide; keep faith if thou wouldst content him.

Prudence says less than it knows; the fool’s heart cannot contain its folly.

Busy hands, hands that shall bear the sceptre; idle hands, hands that shall bring tribute.

A heart bowed down with anxiety, how a kind word can refresh it!

It is well done to put up with loss for a neighbour’s need; the calculations of the sinner do but lead him astray.

Never yet did cunning achieve the gains it hoped for; a contented heart is precious as fine gold.

Wouldst thou attain life, honesty is the high road; by-way there is none but leads to death.