If therefore whensoever the time of thy departing shall come, thou shalt readily leave all things, and shalt respect thy mind only, and that divine part of thine, and this shall be thine only fear, not that some time or other thou shalt cease to live, but thou shalt never begin to live according to nature : then shalt thou be a man indeed, worthy of that world, from which thou hadst thy beginning; then shalt thou cease to be a stranger in thy country, and to wonder at those things that happen daily, as things strange and unexpected, and anxiously to depend of divers things that are not in thy power.
[tr. Casaubon (1634)]

If, since your Life is almost up, you lay aside all other Matters, and only Cultivate your Mind, and pay a Regard to the Governing , and Diviner part of your self: If you are not at all afraid of losing your Life, but of Missing the Ends on't, and not Living as you should do; Then you'l act suitably to your Extraction, and deserve to have the Deity for your Maker: Then you'l be no longer a stranger in your own Country , nor be surpriz'd at common Accidents; you'll ne'er be anxious about the Future, nor stand to the Courtesy of Events.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

If, therefore, now that you are near your exit, you quit thought about other things, and honour only that governing and divine part within you, and dread not the ceasing to live, but the not commencing to live according to nature; you will become a man, worthy of that orderly universe which produced you, and will cease to be as a stranger in your own country; both astonished, with what happens every day, as if unexpected; and in anxious suspence about this and t’other thing.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

If then, as you are now on the verge of life, you lay aside all other cares, and dedicate your whole attention to the improvement of your mind, and pay a due respect to the Deity within you, and fear less to die than not to live according to nature; you will, by this means, become worthy of that Universal Nature which produced you, and will no longer be a stranger in your own country; and will cease to be surprized at what happens every day, as if it were something extraordinary; nor be anxious and in suspense about the common events of life.
[tr. Graves (1792)]

If, then, whatever the time may be when thou shalt be near to thy departure, neglecting everything else thou shalt respect only thy ruling faculty and the divinity within thee, and if thou shalt be afraid not because thou must some time cease to live, but if thou shalt fear never to have begun to live according to nature -- then thou wilt be a man worthy of the universe which has produced thee, and thou wilt cease to be a stranger in thy native land, and to wonder at things which happen daily as if they were something unexpected, and to be dependent on this or that.
[tr. Long (1862)]

If, since your life is almost up, you lay aside all other matters, and only cultivate your mind, and pay a regard to the governing and diviner part of yourself; if you are not at all afraid of losing your life, but only of never beginning to live in accordance with nature, then you will act suitably to your extraction, and deserve to be the offspring of the universe; then you will be no longer a stranger in your own country, nor surprised at common accidents; you will never be dependent on this or that.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

If then, now that you near your end, leaving all else alone, you will reverence only your Inner Self and the god within, if you will fear not life some time coming to an end, but never beginning life at all in accord with nature's law, then indeed you will be a man, worthy of the universe that begat you, and no more a stranger to your fatherland, ever in amaze at the unexpectedness of what each day brings forth, and hanging upon this event or that.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

If then, now that you are near your exit, setting behind you all other things, you will hold alone in reverence your ruling part, the spirit divine within you; if you will cease to dread the end of life, but rather fear to miss the beginning of life according to Nature, you will be a man, worthy of the ordered Universe that produced you; you will cease to be a stranger in your own country, gaping in wonder at every daily happening, caught up by this trifle or by that.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

If then, when the time of thy departure is near, abandoning all else thou prize thy ruling Reason alone and that which in thee is divine, and dread the thought, not that thou must one day cease to live, but that thou shouldst never yet have begun to live according to Nature, then shalt thou be a man worthy of the Universe that begat thee, and no longer an alien in thy fatherland, no longer shalt thou marvel at what happens every day as if it were unforeseen, and be dependent on this or that.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

If then, when you arrive at last at your final exit, resigning all else, you honour your governing self alone and the divine element within you, if what you dread is not that some day you will cease to live, but rather never to begin at all to live with Nature, you will be a man worthy of the Universe that gave you birth, and will cease to be a stranger in your own country, surprised by what is coming to pass every day, as at something you did not look to see, and absorbed in this thing or in that.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

If then, when the time for your departure draws near, you have put all else behind you and you honour your governing faculty alone and what is divine within you, and if what you hold in fear is not that some day you will cease to live, but rather that you may never begin go live according to nature, you will be a person who is worthy of the universe that brought you to birth, and you will no longer be a stranger in your native land, wondering at what happens day after day as if it were beyond foreseeing, and in thrall to one thing and the next.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.)]

And if, when it’s time to depart, you shunt everything aside except your mind and the divinity within ... if it isn’t ceasing to live that you’re afraid of but never beginning to live properly ... then you’ll be worthy of the world that made you.
No longer an alien in your own land.
No longer shocked by everyday events—as if they were unheard-of aberrations.
No longer at the mercy of this, or that.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

If, then, when you finally come close to your exit, you have left all else behind and value only your directing mind and the divinity within you, if your fear is not that you will cease to live, but that you never started a life in accordance with nature, then you will be a man worthy of the universe that gave you birth. You will no longer be a stranger in your own country, no longer meet the day’s events as if bemused by the unexpected, no longer hang on this or that.
[tr. Hammond (2006), 12.2]

But if, when you have come to the end, having let go of all other things, you honor only your guiding part and the divinity that is within you, and you do not fear ceasing to live so much as you fear never having begun to live in accordance with Nature -- then you will be a man who is worthy of the Cosmos that created you; and you will cease to live like a stranger in your own land, that is, surprised at unexpected everyday occurrences and wholly distracted by this and that.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

If then, when the time for your departure draws near, you have put all else behind you and you honour your ruling centre alone and what is divine within you, and if what you hold in fear is not that some day you will cease to live, but rather that you may never begin to live according to nature, you will be a man who is worthy of the universe that brought you to birth, and you will no longer be a stranger in your native land, wondering at what happens day after day as if it were beyond foreseeing, and hanging on to one thing after another.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]

It is mortifying to feel that you belong to a mental mob and cry "crucify him," because others do; that you reap what the great and brave have sown, and that you can benefit the world only by leaving it.

He sleeps. Although his fate was very strange, he lived. He died when he had no longer his angel. The thing came to pass simply, of itself, as the night comes when day is gone.
[tr. Hapgood (1887)]

He sleeps; although so much he was denied,
He lived. And when his dear love left him, died.
It happened of itself, in the calm way
That in the evening night-time follows day.
[tr. Denny (1976)]

He sleeps. Though fate dealt with him strangely,
He lived. Bereft of his angel, he died.
It came about simplly, of itself,
As night follows when the day is ended.
[tr. Donougher (2013)]

It is nothing to die; it is frightful not to live.
[tr. Wilbour (1862)]

It is nothing to die, but it is frightful not to live.
[tr. Wraxall (1862)]

It is nothing to die; it is dreadful not to live.
[tr. Hapgood (1887)]

To die is nothing; but it is terrible not to live.
[tr. Denny (1976)]

It’s nothing to die. It’s dreadful not to live.
[tr. Donougher (2013)]

Every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it. Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.
Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.
“Do you believe?” he cried.
Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.
She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn’t sure.
“What do you think?” she asked Peter.
“If you believe,” he shouted to them, “clap your hands; don’t let Tink die.”
Many clapped.
Some didn’t.
A few little beasts hissed.
The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already Tink was saved. First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have liked to get at the ones who had hissed.

Thou art a fool, if thou think to live long, sith thou art not sure to live one day to the end. How many have been deceived through trust of long life, and suddenly have been taken out of this world or they had thought. How oft hast thou heard say that such a man was slain, and such a man was drowned, and such a man fell and broke his neck ? This man as he ate his meat was strangled, and this man as he played took his death ; one with fire, another with iron, another with sickness, and some by theft have suddenly perished ! And so the end of all men is death, for the life of man as a shadow suddenly fleeth and passeth away.
[tr. Whitford/Raynal (1530/1871)]

You are foolish if you think to live long, since you are not certain to live one day through to the end. How many have been deceived through trusting in a long life who have suddenly been taken out of the world much sooner than they had thought. How often have you heard that such a man was slain, and such a man was drowned, and such a man fell and broke his neck; this man choked on his food, and this man died in his recreation; one by fire, another by the sword, another by sickness, and some by theft have suddenly perished. And so the end of all men is death, and the life of man is as a shadow which suddenly glides and passes away.
[tr. Whitford/Gardiner (1530/1955)]

Ah foole, why dost thou think to live long, when thou canst not promise to thy selfe one day, how many have been deceived and suddenly snatcht away? How often dost thou hear these reports, such a man is slain, another is drowned, a third breaks his neck with a fall, this man died eating, and that man playing? One perished by fire, another by the sword, another of the plague, and another was slain by theeves, thus death is the end of all, and mans life passeth away like a shadow.
[tr. Page (1639), 1.23.29-31]

Does any Confidence of long Life encourage you to defer putting this good Advice in Execution speedily ? Nay, but reflect, fond Man, how little you can promise your self one poor single Day. How many Instances have you before your Eyes, or fresh in your Remembrance, of Persons miserably deluded and disappointed in this Hope, and hurried out of the Body without any warning at all? How often have you been surprized with the News of this Friend being run thro', another drowning crossing the Water, a Third breaking his Neck by a Fall, a Fourth fallen down dead at Table, or choaked with his Meat, a Fifth seized with an Apoplex at Play, a Sixth burnt in his Bed, a Seventh murthered, an Eighth killed by Thieves, a Ninth struck with Lightning, or Blasting, or Pestilence, a Tenth swallow'd up in an Earthquake. Such vast variety of Deaths surround us, and so fleeting a Shadow is the Life of a Man.
[tr. Stanhope (1696; 1706 ed.)]

Ah foolish man! why dost thou still flatter thyself with the expectation of a long life, when thou canst not be sure of a single day? How many unhappy fools, deluded by this hope, are in some unexpected moment separated from the body! How often dost thou hear, that one is slain, another is drowned, another by falling from a precipice has broken his neck, another is choaked in eating, another has dropt down dead in the exercise of some favorite diversion; and that thousands, indeed, are daily perishing by fire, by sword, by the plague, or by the violence of robbers! Thus is death common to every age; and man suddenly passeth away as a vision of the night.
[tr. Payne (1803), 1.23.8]

Ah! fool, why dost thou think to live long, when thou canst not promise to thyself one day. How many have been deceived and suddenly snatched away! How often dost thou hear these reports, Such a man is slain, another man is drowned, a third breaks his neck with a fall from some high place, this man died eating, and that man playing! One perished by fire, another by the sword, another of the plague, another was slain by thieves. Thus death is the end of all, and man's life suddenly passeth away like a shadow.
[ed. Parker (1841)]

Ah, foolish man! why dost thou think thou wilt live long, when thou canst not count upon a single day? How many souls, deluded by this hope, are, in some unexpected moment, separated from the body! How often dost thou hear, that "one is slain, another is drowned, another, by falling form a precipice, has broken his neck -- another is choaked in eating; another has dropt down dead in the exercise of some favourite diversion; and that thousands, indeed, are daily perishing by fire, by sword, by the plague, or by the violence of robbers! Thus, death is the end of all; and the life of man passeth away suddenly like a shadow.
[tr. Dibdin (1851)]

Ah, fool! why dost thou think to live long, when thou art not sure of one day? How many thinking to live long have been deceived, and snatched unexpectedly away? How often hast thou heard related, that such a one was slain by the sword; another drowned; another, from a height, broke his neck; one died eating, another playing? Some have perished by fire; some by the sword; some by pestilence; and some by robbers. And so death is the end of all; and man's life suddenly passeth away like a shadow.
[ed. Bagster (1860)]

Ah, foolish one! why thinkest thou that thou shalt live long, when thou art not sure of a single day? How many have been deceived, and suddenly have been snatched away from the body! How many times hast thou heard how one was slain by the sword, another was drowned, another falling from on high broke his neck, another died at the table, another whilst at play! One died by fire, another by the sword, another by the pestilence, another by the robber. Thus cometh death to all, and the life of men swiftly passeth away like a shadow.
[tr. Benham (1874)]

Ah! fool, why dost thou think to live long, when thou canst not promise to thyself one day. How many have been deceived and suddenly snatched away! How often dost thou hear these reports, Such a man is slain, another is drowned, a third has broken his neck with a fall, this man died eating, and that man playing! One perished by fire, another by the sword, another by the plague, another was slain by thieves. Thus death is the end of all, and man's life suddenly passeth away like a shadow.
[tr. Anon. (1901)]

Ah, foolish man, why do you plan to live long when you are not sure of living even a day? How many have been deceived and suddenly snatched away! How often have you heard of persons being killed by drownings, by fatal falls from high places, of persons dying at meals, at play, in fires, by the sword, in pestilence, or at the hands of robbers! Death is the end of everyone and the life of man quickly passes away like a shadow.
[tr. Croft/Bolton (1940)]

Ah fool, why think of living long when you have no certainty of a day? How many are mistaken and unexpectedly snatched away from the body. How often you have heard men say, he is killed by the sword, he is drowned, he broke his neck falling from a height, he choked while eating, he met his end while at play; one perished by fire, another from plague, another by a robber; and so death is the end of all; and man’s life passes suddenly like a shadow.
[tr. Daplyn (1952)]

Foolish man, how can you promise yourself a long life, when you are not certain of a single day? How many have deceived themselves in this way, and been snatched unexpectedly from life! You have often heard how this man was slain by the sword; another drowned; how another fell from a high place and broke his neck; how another died at table; how another met his end in play. One perishes by fire, another by the sword, another from disease, another at the hands of robbers. Death is the end of all men; and the life of man passes away suddenly as a shadow.
[tr. Sherley-Price (1952)]

You fool, why do you imagine you will live a long life. when you cannot be sure of a single day? Many have made this mistake and have been snatched away from life when they least expected it. So often you hear people saying that so and so has been killed in battle, and so and so drowned; another man has fallen from a height and broken his neck; one choked over a meal, another met his end in some sport. Others have died by -- fire, by violence, by sickness, by robbery -- death is the end of all, and the life of man passes by and vanishes like a shadow.
[tr. Knott (1962)]

Foolish one, why do you hope for long life when not even one day is certain? How many there are who think they will live long, but are mistaken and snatched from the body unexpectedly. How often have you heard it said: This man fell by the sword; that man was drowned; another fell and broke his neck; yet another was taken while at table and the other was at sport when the end came. One by fire, another by steel, yet another by pestilence and again another by thieves met his death. Death is the end of all men and man’s life is a shadow that quickly passes by.
[tr. Rooney (1979)]

Ah, my foolish friend! why do you think of living a long life when you are not sure of even one day? How many people are tricked and unexpectedly snatched away? How often have you heard it said that someone was murdered, someone else drowned, another broke his neck falling from a high place, yet another choked while eating, and someone else met his end while playing; one person died by fire, another from disease, and another was killed by a robber, and thus death is the end of all, and our life passes suddenly like a shadow.
[tr. Creasy (1989)]

I departe me from this presente life as a walkyng weyfaryng man or as a voyagieng pilgryme departith from some lodgyng place or an hostellrye for to come to his owne dwellyng house. But I departe me not from this life as the lorde departeth from his owne house for this passable life is nowght ellys but as a lodgyng place or an hostellrye.
[tr. Worcester/Worcester/Scrope (1481)]

And I depart out of this life as out of an inn, and not out of a dwellinghouse. For nature hath given to us a lodging to remain and sojourn in for a time, and not to dwell in continually.
[tr. Newton (1569)]

And I depart out of this life, as from an Inne, not as from a continuall habitation; for nature hath given us a place to rest in, not to dwell in.
[tr. Austin (1648)]

Hence from an Inne, not from my home, I pass,
Since Nature meant us here no dwelling place.
[tr. Denham (1669)]

I have not frustrated the End of Nature, and am disposed to leave this life, with as much Indifference, as an Inn upon the Road; for Nature here intends us a Lodging only, not a Fixed Home or Settled Place of Habitation.
[tr. Hemming (1716)]

And now I go from this Life as from an Inn; for Nature hath given it us as a Place to rest in, but not for a continual Habitation.
[tr. J. D. (1744)]

And when the Close comes, I shall quit Life as I would an Inn, and not as a real Home. For Nature appears to me to have ordain'd this Station here for us, as a Place of Sojournment, a transitory Abode only, and not as a fixt Settlement or permanent Habitation.
[tr. Logan (1744)]

I depart out of life just as out of an inn, and not as out of my home. For Nature has given us an hotel to sojourn in, not a place to dwell in.
[Cornish Bros. ed. (1847)]

And from this life I depart as from a temporary lodging, not as from a home. For nature has assigned it to us as an inn to sojourn in, not a place of habitation.
[tr. Edmonds (1874)]

Yet I depart from life, as from an inn, not as from a home; for nature has given us here a lodging for a sojourn, not a place of habitation.
[tr. Peabody (1884)]

But I quit life as I would an inn, not as I would a home. For nature has given us a place of entertainment, not of residence.
[tr. Shuckburgh (1895)]

I now depart
As from a lodging; house, and not a home.
Nature has made this world a place in which
One stays a little, does not dwell for aye.
[tr. Allison (1916)]

And I quit life as if it were an inn, not a home. For Nature has given us an hostelry in which to sojourn, not to abide.
[tr. Falconer (1923)]

But what nature gives us is a place to dwell in temporarily, not one to make our own. When I leave life, therefore, I shall feel as if I am leaving a hostel rather than a home.
[tr. Grant (1960, 1971 ed.)]

And I am departing from life as from a temporary lodging, not as from a home. Yes, nature has given a spot where we may turn aside for a time, not a place of permanent residence.
[tr. Copley (1967)]

But I do feel as though I am leaving an inn, not my home. Nature has given us a place to stay for a while, but not for ever.
[tr. Cobbold (2012)]

I leave this life as I would leave
An inn and not a home. Nature
Gave us in fact a temporary hotel,
Not a permanent place in which to dwell.
[tr. Bozzi (2015)]

I depart from life as if from an inn, not a house. Nature gives us our bodies to abide in only for a time as guests, not to make our home.
[tr. Freeman (2016)]

And I am leaving life as if from an inn, not a home. For nature has given us a way-station for a brief delay, not to permanently reside.
[tr. @sentantiq (2018)]

I have
Liv'd, and perform'd that course my fortune gave,
And now the earth must my great shade seclude.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]

My fatal course is finish'd; and I go,
A glorious name, among the ghosts below.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

I have lived, and finished the race which fortune gave me. And now my ghost shall descent illustrious to the shades below.
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

My life is lived, and I have played
     The part that Fortune gave,
And now I pass, a queenly shade,
     Majestic to the grave.
[tr. Conington (1866)]

I have lived,
And have achieved the course that fortune gave.
And now of me the queenly shade shall pass
Beneath the earth.
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 855ff]

I have lived and fulfilled Fortune's allotted course; and now shall I go a queenly phantom under the earth.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

I, I have lived, and down the way fate showed to me have passed;
And now a mighty shade of me shall go beneath the earth!
[tr. Morris (1900)]

My life is lived; behold, the course assigned
By Fortune now is finished, and I go,
A shade majestic, to the world below.
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 86, l 768ff]

My life is done.
I have accomplished what my lot allowed;
and now my spirit to the world of death
in royal honor goes.
[tr. Williams (1910)]

My life is done and I have finished the course that Fortune gave; and now in majesty my shade shall pass beneath the earth.
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]

I have lived, I have run the course that fortune gave me,
And now my shade, a great one, will be going
Below the earth.
[tr. Humphries (1951)]

I have lived, I have run to finish the course which fortune gave me:
And now, a queenly shade, I shall pass to the world below.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1952)]

I have lived
and journeyed through the course assigned by fortune.
And now my Shade will pass, illustrious,
beneath the earth.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 900ff]

I have lived my life out to the very end
And passed the stages Fortune had appointed.
Now my tall shade goes to the under world.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 907ff]

I have lived my life and completed the course that Fortune has set before me, and now my great spirit will go beneath the earth.
[tr. West (1990)]

I have lived, and I have completed the course that Fortune granted,
and now my noble spirit will pass beneath the earth.
[tr. Kline (2002)]

I have lived, and I have completed the course
Assigned by Fortune. Now my mighty ghost
Goes beneath the earth.
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]

I'm done with life; I've run the course Fate gave me.br> Now my noble ghost goes to the Underworld.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]

And, as a crimson poppy flow’r, surchargéd with his seed,
And vernal humours falling thick, declines his heavy brow,
So, of one side, his helmet’s weight his fainting head did bow.
[tr. Chapman (1611), ll. 265-67]

As full-blown poppies, overcharged with rain,
Decline the head, and drooping kiss the plain, --
So sinks the youth; his beauteous head, depressed
Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast.
[tr. Pope (1715-20)]

As in the garden, with the weight surcharged
Of its own fruit, and drench’d by vernal rains
The poppy falls oblique, so he his head
Hung languid, by his helmet’s weight depress’d.
[tr. Cowper (1791), l. 351ff]

And as a poppy, which in the garden is weighed down with fruit and vernal showers, droops its head to one side, so did his head incline aside, depressed by the helmet.
[tr. Buckley (1860)]

Down sank his head, as in a garden sinks
A ripen'd poppy charg'd with vernal rains;
So sank his head beneath his helmet's weight.
[tr. Derby (1864), ll. 349-51]

Now he bowed his head as a garden poppy in full bloom when it is weighed down by showers in spring -- even thus heavy bowed his head beneath the weight of his helmet.
[tr. Butler (1898)]

And he bowed his head to one side like a poppy that in a garden is laden with its fruit and the rains of spring; so bowed he to one side his head, laden with his helmet.
[tr. Murray (1924)]

Fallen on one side, as on the stalk a poppy falls, weighed down by showring spring, beneath his helmet's weight his head sank down.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1974)]

As a garden poppy, burst into red bloom, bends
by its full seeds and a sudden spring shower,
so Gorgythion's head fell limp over one shoulder,
weighed down by his helmet.
[tr. Fagles (1990), ll. 349-53]

Off to one side his head he let drop, like a poppy that in some
garden is heavy with its own seed and the showers of springtime --
so to one side did his head incline, weighed down by his helmet.
[tr. Merrill (2007), ll. 306-08]

It is a sweet, and noble gain,
In Countreys quarrel to be slain.
Death the swift flying man pursues
With ready steps: Nor doth he use
To spare from unavoided wrack,
Youths supple hams, or fearful back.
[tr. Sir T. H.; ed. Brome (1666)]

He nobly Bleeds, he bravely Dies,
That falls his Countries Sacrifice;
The flying Youth swift Fate o're takes
It strikes them thro the trembling backs,
And runs too fast for nimble Cowardice.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

What joy, for fatherland to die!
Death's darts e'en flying feet o'ertake,
Nor spare a recreant chivalry,
A back that cowers, or loins that quake.
[tr. Conington (1872)]

It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country; death even pursues the man that flies from him; nor does he spare the trembling knees of effeminate youth, nor the coward back.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

For our dear native land to die
Is glorious and sweet;
And death the coward slaves that fly
Pursues with steps as fleet.
Nor spares the loins and backs of those
Unwarlike youths, who shun their foes.
[tr. Martin (1864)]

Glorious and sweet it is to die for the dear native land;
Even him who runs away from Death, Death follows fast behind --
Death does not spare the recreant back,
And hamstrings limbs that flee.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]

Sweet and glorious it is to die for our country. Death also pursues the runaway, and spares not the legs and trembling back of the unwarlike youth.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

'T is sweet for native land to die,
'T is noble: Death takes them that fly:
For coward back it has no ruth,
Nor spares the flight of dastard youth.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]

'Tis sweet and noble -- Death for one's country's sake --
Death overtakes the cowardly fugitive.
Nor spares his flying limbs, and timid
Back, as he runs from the foe dishonour'd.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]

'Tis sweet and honourable to die for fatherland.
Death follows even the man who flees.
And of unwarlike youth
Spares not the loins and recreant back.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]

Good 'tis and fine, for fatherland to die!
Death tracks him too who shirks; nor will He fail
To smite the coward loins that quail,
The coward limbs that fly!
[tr. Marshall (1908)]

'Tis sweet and glorious to die for fatherland. Yet Death o’ertakes not less the runaway, nor spares the limbs and coward backs of faint-hearted youths.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]

To die for Homeland is a sweet
And gracious thing; on flying feet
Death presses hard, nor spares to smite
Poltroons' weak knees and backs affright.
[tr. Mills (1924)]

How good, how noble to die for your country.
Death chases those who run from him,
And catches them, sand never spares a coward
Or a womanish boy.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]

Sweet and proper it is to die for your country,
But Death would just as soon come after him
Who runs away; Death gets him by the backs
Of his fleeing knees and jumps him from behind.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]

Sweet and noble is it to die for one’s country, yet Death pursues even the man who flees, nor does he spare the languid loins and cowardly backs of pusillanimous youth.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]

It’s sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.
Yet death chases after the soldier who runs,
and it won’t spare the cowardly back
or the limbs, of peace-loving young men.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

It is sweet and proper to die for your country:
Death, too, pursues the runaway man
And does not spare the knees of a peaceful youth
nor a fearful back.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]

I would have a man to be doing, and to prolong his lives offices, as much as lieth in him, and let death seize upon me, whilst I am setting my cabiges, carelesse of her darte, but more of my unperfect garden.
[tr. Florio (1603)]

I would always have a man to be doing, and, as much as in him lies, to extend, and spin out the Offices of life; and then let Death take me planting Cabages, but without any careful thought of him, and much less of my Garden’s not being finished.
[tr. Cotton (1686)]

I would always have a man to be doing, and spinning out the offices of life as far as possible; and though death should seize me planting my cabbages, I should not be concerned at it, much less for leaving my garden unfinished.
[tr. Friswell (1868)]

I would always have a man to be doing, and, as much as in him lies, to extend and spin out the offices of life; and then let death take me planting my cabbages, indifferent to him, and still less of my gardens not being finished.
[tr. Cotton/Hazlitt (1877)]

I desire that a man should act, and prolong the employments of life as long as he can, and that death may find me planting my cabbages, but indifferent regarding it, and even more regarding my unfinished garden.
[tr. Ives (1925)]

I want death to find me planting my cabbages, but caring little for it, and even less about the imperfections of my garden.
[tr. Rat (1958)]

I want us to be doing things, prolonging life’s duties as much as we can; I want Death to find me planting my cabbages, neither worrying about it nor the unfinished gardening.
[tr. Screech (1987)]

I wish for us to be doing, and to carry on with our responsibilities in life while we still can. I want death to find me planting my cabbages, indifferent to it, with my garden still a work in progress.
[tr. HyperEssays (2024)]

(The waters are lapping over the rock now, and PETER knows that it will soon be submerged. Pale rays of light mingle with the moving clouds, and from the coral grottoes is to be heard a sound, at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the Never Land, the mermaids calling to the moon to rise. PETER is afraid at last, and a tremor runs through him, like a shudder passing over the lagoon; but on the lagoon one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and he feels just the one.)
PETER (with a drum beating in his breast as if he were a real boy at last): To die will be an awfully big adventure.

The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged. Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.
Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremor ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him. It was saying, “To die will be an awfully big adventure.”

If you know not how to die, take no care for it; Nature her selfe will fully and sufficiently teach you in the nicke, she will exactly discharge that worke for you; trouble not your selfe with it.
[tr. Florio (1603)]

If yon know not how to die, never trouble your self; Nature will fully and sufficiently instruct you upon the place, she will exactly do that Business for you, take you no Care.
[tr. Cotton (1686)]

If you know not how to die, never trouble yourself; nature will, at the time, fully and sufficiently instruct you: she will exactly do that business for you; take you no care.
[tr. Cotton/Hazlitt (1877)]

If you know not how to die, be not concerned: Nature will instruct you on the spot, plainly and sufficiently; she will do this business for you accurately; do not give it your attention.
[tr. Ives (1925)]

If you do not know how to die, never mind. Nature will give you full and adequate instruction on the spot. She will do this job for you neatly; do not worry yourself with the thought.
[tr. Cohen (1958)]

If you do not know how to die, never mind. Nature will tell you how to do it on the spot, plainly and adequately. She will do this job for you most punctiliously: do not worry about it: [tr. Screech (1987)]