More smooth than butter were his words, while in his heart was war; His speeches were more soft than oil, and yet drawn swords they are.
My soul among fierce lions is, I firebrands live among, Men's sons, whose teeth are spears and darts, a sharp sword is their tongue.
With ill men draw me not away that work iniquity; That speak peace to their friends, while in their hearts doth mischief lie.
Who do their tongues with malice whet, and make them cut like swords; In whose bent bows are arrows set, ev'n sharp and bitter words:
Unto his neighbour ev'ry one doth utter vanity: They with a double heart do speak, and lips of flattery.
They only plot to cast him down from his excellency: They joy in lies; with mouth they bless, but they curse inwardly.
Behold, they belch out with their mouth, and in their lips are swords: For they do say thus, Who is he that now doth hear our words?