Proverbs.
Chapter 7.
My son! keep my sayings, And my commands lay up with thee. 
Keep my commands, and live, And my law as the pupil of thine eye. 
Bind them on thy fingers, Write them on the tablet of thy heart. 
Say to wisdom, 'My sister Thou art.' And cry to understanding, 'Kinswoman!' 
To preserve thee from a strange woman, From a stranger who hath made smooth her sayings. 
For, at a window of my house, Through my casement I have looked out, 
And I do see among the simple ones, I discern among the sons, A young man lacking understanding, 
Passing on in the street, near her corner, And the way to her house he doth step, 
In the twilight — in the evening of day, In the darkness of night and blackness. 
And, lo, a woman to meet him — (A harlot's dress, and watchful of heart, 
Noisy she is, and stubborn, In her house her feet rest not. 
Now in an out-place, now in broad places, And near every corner she lieth in wait) — 
And she laid hold on him, and kissed him, She hath hardened her face, and saith to him, 
'Sacrifices of peace-offerings are by me, To-day I have completed my vows. 
Therefore I have come forth to meet thee, To seek earnestly thy face, and I find thee. 
With ornamental coverings I decked my couch, Carved works — cotton of Egypt. 
I sprinkled my bed — myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. 
Come, we are filled with loves till the morning, We delight ourselves in loves. 
For the man is not in his house, He hath gone on a long journey. 
A bag of money he hath taken in his hand, At the day of the new moon he cometh to his house.' 
She turneth him aside with the abundance of her speech, With the flattery of her lips she forceth him. 
He is going after her straightway, As an ox unto the slaughter he cometh, And as a fetter unto the chastisement of a fool, 
Till an arrow doth split his liver, As a bird hath hastened unto a snare, And hath not known that it is for its life. 
And now, ye sons, hearken to me, And give attention to sayings of my mouth. 
Let not thy heart turn unto her ways, Do not wander in her paths, 
For many are the wounded she caused to fall, And mighty are all her slain ones. 
The ways of Sheol — her house, Going down unto inner chambers of death! 
