Coverdale(i)
3 For the lippes of an harlot are a droppinge hony combe, and hir throte is softer then oyle.
4 But at ye last she is as bitter as wormwod, and as sharpe as a two edged swerde.
5 Hir fete go downe vnto death, and hir steppes pearse thorow vnto hell.
6 She regardeth not the path of life, so vnstedfast are hir wayes, that thou canst not knowe them.
7 Heare me therfore (o my sonne) and departe not fro the wordes of my mouth.
8 Kepe thy waye farre from her, and come not nye ye dores of hir house.
9 That thou geue not thine honor vnto another, and thy yeares to the cruell.
10 That other men be not fylled with thy goodes, & that thy labours come not in a straunge house.
11 Yee that thou mourne not at the last (when thou hast spent thy body and goodes)