Original
Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov’d boy.
Seven years tho’ wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon ‘scap’d world’s and flesh’s rage,
And if no other misery, yet age?
Rest in soft peace, and, ask’d, say, “Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.”
For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such,
As what he loves may never like too much.
Modern English
Farewell my child of my Flesh, Bones and Joy.
My terrible acctions were too much for you, My lovely body.
Seven year off love and this is my payment.
Killed by fate on this day.
Will it be my father next, but why do men stay in the state that he should envy.
To become nad in his own goddam rage.
And if no misery comes from old age.
Rest in Peace, ask Here doth lie
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry.”
for those who are forsaken from his vows.
as for what he loves may never love him.
React!