Saturday, January 12, 2013

I need a full translation (into Modern English) of John Donne's famous poem "Death be not Proud."

Interesting task to try and achieve. Here goes my
effort:


Don't be conceited Death, even though many think
you are


Mighty and dreadful, for actually you are
not,


For those that you think you triumph
over


Don't actually die, poor little Death, just as you
can't kill me.


Death actually only gives rest and
sleep,


Which is very pleasurable, because death is only a
temporary state that will end,


And as soon as great people
die and go to you,


You only give the body rest and deliver
the soul from the bondage of the body.


You are a slave to
fate, luck, kings and desperate men,


And you live with
poison, war and sickness,


And after all, drugs and magic
can make us sleep too,


And better than you can, so what
makes you think you are so great?


After we have a short
nap, we will awake to eternity


And in this place death will
not exist; Death, you are going to die.

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