14The door turneth round on its hinge, And the slothful on his bed.
15The slothful hath hid his hand in a dish, He is weary of bringing it back to his mouth.
16Wiser is the slothful in his own eyes, Than seven men returning a reason.
17Laying hold on the ears of a dog, Is a passer-by making himself wrath for strife not his own.
18As one pretending to be feeble, Who is casting sparks, arrows, and death,
19So hath a man deceived his neighbour, And hath said, 'Am not I playing?'
20Without wood is fire going out, And without a tale-bearer, contention ceaseth,
21Coal to burning coals, and wood to fire, And a man of contentions to kindle strife.
22The words of a tale-bearer are as self-inflicted wounds, And they have gone down to the inner parts of the heart.