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 Love becomes loathing if long one sits By the hearth in another's home.

Better a house, though a hut it be, A man is master at home; A pair of goats and a patched-up roof Are better far than begging.

Better a house, though a hut it be, A man is master at home; His heart is bleeding who needs must beg When food he fain would have.

Away from his arms in the open field A man should fare not a foot; For never he knows when the need for a spear Shall arise on the distant road.

If wealth a man has won for himself, Let him never suffer in need; Oft he saves for a foe what he plans for a friend, For much goes worse than we wish.

None so free with gifts or food have I found That gladly he took not a gift,