Can someone please translate the entire poem "Death Be Not Proud" into modern-day English?

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This is one of Donne's most famous poems, addressing Death as a personified being and suggesting that, ultimately, he has no power at all. A rough "translation" into modern English might be something like this:

Don't be proud, Death, although some people have called you
Powerful and terrible‚because you aren't.
Those who you think you are defeating
Don't actually die, and you can't kill me.
From rest and sleep, which are just imitations of death,
We get pleasure, and therefore it stands to reason that death will be pleasurable, too.
The best men go soonest with you, dying,
Resting their bones and delivering their souls to God.
But you are a slave to fate, luck, kings/powerful figures, and desperate men;
You can be summoned with poison, war, or sickness, which all cause death.
Meanwhile, drugs or meditation can also make us sleep
Better than when we die—so why are you so full of yourself?
Death is just one short sleep, after which we wake to eternal life,
And then there will be no more...

(The entire section contains 3 answers and 574 words.)

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