¶ Is there¹ not an appointed time² to man upon earth? are not his days also like the days³ of an hireling?

As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow⁵, and as an hireling⁶ looketh for the reward of his work:

So am I made to possess months of⁷ vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me.

When⁸ I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night⁹ be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.

My flesh¹⁰ is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome¹¹.

My days are swifter¹² than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope¹³.

¶ O remember¹⁴ that my life¹⁵ is wind: mine eye shall no more see¹⁶ good.

The eye¹⁷ of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: thine eyes¹⁸ are upon me, and I am not¹⁹.

As the cloud²⁰ is consumed and vanisheth away: so he²¹ that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more.

¶ He shall return²² no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.

Therefore I will not²³ refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish²⁴ of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness²⁵ of my soul.

Am I a sea²⁶, or a whale²⁷, that thou settest a watch over me?

When I say, My bed²⁸ shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint;

Then thou scarest²⁹ me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions:

So that my soul chooseth³⁰ strangling, and death rather than my life³¹.

I loathe it;³² I would not live alway: let me alone³³; for my days³⁴ are vanity.

¶ What is man³⁵, that thou shouldest magnify³⁶ him? and that thou shouldest set thine³⁷ heart upon him?

And that thou shouldest visit³⁸ him every morning, and try³⁹ him every moment?

How long⁴⁰ wilt thou not depart from me, nor let me alone till I swallow down my spittle?

¶ I have sinned⁴¹; what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver⁴² of men? why hast⁴³ thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am⁴⁴ a burden to myself?

And why dost⁴⁵ thou not pardon my transgression, and take away⁴⁶ mine iniquity? for now shall I sleep⁴⁷ in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning⁴⁸, but I shall not be⁴⁹.