A little sleep, a little slumber, A little clasping of the hands to rest,
Sloth causeth deep sleep to fall, And an indolent soul doth hunger.
Love not sleep, lest thou become poor, Open thine eyes -- be satisfied `with' bread.
For the quaffer and glutton become poor, And drowsiness clotheth with rags.
Go unto the ant, O slothful one, See her ways and be wise;
Till when, O slothful one, dost thou lie? When dost thou arise from thy sleep?
The fool is clasping his hands, and eating his own flesh: