None that go unto her return again, neither take they hold of the paths of life.
The her is the strange immoral woman, and to go in to her is to enter a way that leads to death with no return again and no regaining hold on the paths of life. Her lips at first drop as a honeycomb and her mouth is smoother than oil, yet her end is bitter as wormwood and wounding as a sharp two-edged sword. Her house inclines downward to death, and her paths sink down to the dead and to hell, to the grave from which there is no rising.
To enter her house is to give away honor, to give years to the cruel, to give wealth and the labor of life to others, and to give strength to strangers. The course ends in mourning at last, when flesh and body are consumed away in suffering and disease and death. That ruin does not stop with this life, for the loss extends beyond it into eternity.
The her is the strange immoral woman, and to go in to her is to enter a way that leads to death with no return again and no regaining hold on the paths of life. Her lips at first drop as a honeycomb and her mouth is smoother than oil, yet her end is bitter as wormwood and wounding as a sharp two-edged sword. Her house inclines downward to death, and her paths sink down to the dead and to hell, to the grave from which there is no rising.
To enter her house is to give away honor, to give years to the cruel, to give wealth and the labor of life to others, and to give strength to strangers. The course ends in mourning at last, when flesh and body are consumed away in suffering and disease and death. That ruin does not stop with this life, for the loss extends beyond it into eternity.