The north wind driveth away rain: so doth an angry countenance a backbiting tongue.
Whoso privily slandereth his neighbour, him will I cut off: him that hath an high look and a proud heart will not I suffer.
Where no wood is, there the fire goeth out: so where there is no talebearer, the strife ceaseth.
The North Wind driveth away rain: so doth an angry countenance a backbiting tongue.
Awake, O North Wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.