A little sleep, a little slumber, A little clasping of the hands to rest,

And thy poverty hath come as a traveller, And thy want as an armed man.

The slothful roasteth not his hunting, And the wealth of a diligent man is precious.

The soul of the slothful is desiring, and hath not. And the soul of the diligent is made fat.

Because of winter the slothful plougheth not, He asketh in harvest, and there is nothing.

A little sleep -- a little slumber -- A little folding of the hands to lie down.

And thy poverty hath come [as] a traveller, And thy want as an armed man!

Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth? And my soul put in my hand?

A kind man is rewarding his own soul, And the fierce is troubling his own flesh.

And cutteth down on the right, and hath been hungry, And he devoureth on the left, And they have not been satisfied, Each the flesh of his own arm they devour.