I am a son of eighty years today. Can I distinguish between good and evil? Can your servant taste that which I am eating, and that which I drink? Can I any more listen to the voice of singing men and singing women? And why should your servant be any more as a burden to my lord the king?
Please let your servant return, and I shall die in my own city, near the grave of my father and my mother. And, behold your servant Chimham! Let him cross over with my lord the king, and you do to him the good in your eyes.
The days of our years are seventy years; and if by strength we live eighty years, yet their pride is labor and sorrow; for it soon passes, and we fly away.
Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, until the evil days do not come, or the years reach when you shall say, There is no pleasure in them for me;
Give, and it will be given to you; good measure, pressed down and shaken together, and running over, they will give into your bosom. For the same measure which you measure, it will be measured back to you.