27 Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.

¹⁷ A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood,

²³ The north wind driveth away rain: so doth an angry countenance a backbiting tongue.

¹² Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? there is more hope of a fool than of him.