17. He may pile it up, but the just will wear it,And the innocent will divide the silver.
18. He builds his house like a moth,Like a booth which a watchman makes.
19. The rich man will lie down,But not be gathered up;He opens his eyes,And he is no more.
20. Terrors overtake him like a flood;A tempest steals him away in the night.
21. The east wind carries him away, and he is gone;It sweeps him out of his place.
22. It hurls against him and does not spare;He flees desperately from its power.
23. Men shall clap their hands at him,And shall hiss him out of his place.