All things are wearisome,
    more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,(A)
    nor the ear its fill of hearing.

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All things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.

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There was a man all alone;
    he had neither son nor brother.
There was no end to his toil,
    yet his eyes were not content(A) with his wealth.
“For whom am I toiling,” he asked,
    “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?”
This too is meaningless—
    a miserable business!

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There is one alone, and there is not a second; yea, he hath neither child nor brother: yet is there no end of all his labour; neither is his eye satisfied with riches; neither saith he, For whom do I labour, and bereave my soul of good? This is also vanity, yea, it is a sore travail.

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