Odes 1.37 (Gladstone): Nunc Est Bibendum

'T is time we drink, 't is time we dance;
Ye Salians, up! your task advance,
Adorn the couch where gods recline:
'T is time for feasting, comrades mine.

Till now, from out its ancient binn
To draw the Caecuban was sin;
The Queen still aimed the stroke of Fate
At Rome and at the Roman State.

She, with her train! base, tainted herd!
She, drunk with fortune; idly stirred
With hope. The fire, that burned her fleet,
Brought back reflection to its seat.

With Mareotic wine inflamed
Her brain grew dizzy; but was tamed,
For Caesar drove her, and she fled,
And wore the hues of genuine dread.

As falcon's swoop weak doves may scare,
As the keen huntsman tracks the hare
In cold Haemonia, so he came
To bind in chains the fateful Dame.

But she the coward's death abhorred,
Feared not, as women fear, the sword,
Nor used the wings that ships provide
In some lone lurking-place to hide.

Bold to survey with eye serene
The void, that had her palace been,
She lodged the vipers on her skin
Where best to drink the poison in.

Then, sterner yet with end foreknown,
She brooked not her defeat to own,
A glorious soul, nor bowed her head
In haughty triumph to be led.