A son of eighty years I am to-day; do I know between good and evil? doth thy servant taste that which I am eating, and that which I drink? do I hearken any more to the voice of singers and songstresses? and why is thy servant any more for a burden unto my lord the king?
Let, I pray thee, thy servant turn back again, and I die in mine own city, near the burying-place of my father and of my mother, --and lo, thy servant Chimham, let him pass over with my lord the king, and do thou to him that which is good in thine eyes.'
Days of our years, in them are seventy years, And if, by reason of might, eighty years, Yet is their enlargement labour and vanity, For it hath been cut off hastily, and we fly away.
Remember also thy Creators in days of thy youth, While that the evil days come not, Nor the years have arrived, that thou sayest, `I have no pleasure in them.'
`Give, and it shall be given to you; good measure, pressed, and shaken, and running over, they shall give into your bosom; for with that measure with which ye measure, it shall be measured to you again.'