In the view of reality, not of illusion,
We mortals are chess-men and fate is the player;
We each act our game on the board of life,
And then one by one are swept into the box!
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 27]

Impotent Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays;
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 74, and 3rd ed. (1872) # 69]

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
[tr. FitzGerald, 4th ed. (1879), # 49, and 5th ed. (1889), # 49]

Here, below, we are naught but puppets tor the diversion of the wheel of the heavens. This is indeed a truth, and no simile. We truly are but pieces on this chessboard of humanity, which in the end we leave, only to enter, one by one, into the grave of nothingness.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 61]

We are but chessmen, who to move are fain,
Just as the great Chessplayer doth ordain.
It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro,
And then in death's box shuts us up again.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 148]

We are but chessmen, destined, it is plain,
That great chess player, Heaven, to entertain;
It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro,
And then in death's box shuts up again.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 270]

We are all Puppets of the Sky, we run
As wills the Player till the Game is done,
And when The Player wearies of the Sport,
He throws us into Darkness One by One.
[tr. Garner (1887), 4.2]

But puppets are we in Fate's puppet-show --
No figure of speech is this, but in truth 't is so!
On the draughtboard of Life we are shuffled to and fro,
Then one by one to the box of Nothing go!
[tr. M. K. (1888)]

HERE, BELOW, WE ARE NAUGHT BUT
PUPPETS FOR THE DIVERSION OF THE
WHEEL OF THE HEAVENS. THIS IS
INDEED A TRUTH, AND NO SIMILE.
WE TRULY ARE BUT PIECES ON
THIS CHESSBOARD OF HUMANITY,
WHICH IN THE END WE LEAVE, ONLY
TO ENTER, ONE BY ONE, INTO THE
GRAVE OF NOTHINGNESS.
[tr. McCarthy (1889)]

Upon this checkerboard of joys and woes
The wretched puppet hither and thither goes,
Until the mighty Player of the skies
His plaything back in the casket throws.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 82]

We're the pieces Heaven moves on the chessboard of space
(No metaphor this, but the truth of the case);
Each awhile on Life's board plays his game and returns
In the box of nonentity back to his place.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 480]

To speak plain language, and not in parables,
we are the pieces and heaven plays the game,
we are played together in a baby-game upon the chessboard of existence,
and one by one we return to the box of non-existence.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 94]

'Tis not a fancy of disordered brains
But certain truth, that on life's checkered square
We men are puppets, whose steps God ordains;
The time is short in which we dally there,
Then in death's casket one by one we fall,
The game is played and earth must cover all.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 108]

Like helpless chessmen on the checkered blocks,
We 're hither, thither moved, till Heaven knocks
The luckless pieces from the crowded board,
And one by one returns them to the box.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 53]

In truth and not by way of simile.
Heaven plays the game and its mere puppets we;
In sport moved on Life's chess-board, one by one
We reach the chess-box of Nonentity!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 317]

To speak plain language, parable to shame,
We are the pieces, Heaven plays the game:
A childish game upon the board of Life,
Then back into the Box from whence we came.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 94]

To speak the truth and not as a metaphor, we are
the pieces of the game and Heaven the player.
We play a little game on the chessboard of existence.
Then we go back to the box of non-existence, one by one.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 6]

This is not an allegory, it is reality:
We are the figures and the Sphere is the player.
We act a play on the boards of existence
And we go back into the box of non-existence one by one.
[tr. Rosen (1928), # 168]

We puppets dance to tunes of Time we know,
We are puppets in fact, and not for show;
Existence is the carpet where we dance,
So one by one where aught is naught we go.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 2.6]

Let me speak out, unallegorically:
We are mere puppets of our Master, toys.
On the Table of Existence, one by one.
Flung back in the toy box of Non-existence.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 73]

We are but chessmen in God’s scheme of things:
The most are merely pawns, a few are kings;
And when our unimportant game is done
Back in the box we tumble one by one.
[tr. Bowen (1976), # 44]

We are the puppets and fate the puppeteer
This is not a metaphor, but a truth sincere
On this stage, fate for sometime our moves steer
Into the chest of non-existence, one by one disappear.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), literal]

The hands of fate play our game
We the players are given a name
Some are tame, others gain fame
Yet in the end, we’re all the same.
[tr. Shahriari (1998), figurative]