17 Happy art thou, O land, When thy king 'is' a son of freemen, And thy princes do eat in due season, For might, and not for drunkenness.
18 By slothfulness is the wall brought low, And by idleness of the hands doth the house drop.
19 For mirth they are making a feast, And wine maketh life joyful, And the silver answereth with all.
20 Even in thy mind a king revile not, And in the inner parts of thy bed-chamber Revile not the rich: For a fowl of the heavens causeth the voice to go, And a possessor of wings declareth the word.
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