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![]() Source: https://downunderpharaoh.patternbyetsy.com/listing/507220168/egyptian-art-cleopatra-dressed-as-the This is the beginning of several posts, possibly nonconsecutive, on Horace's Ode 1.37, the famous ode on Cleopatra. I begin with the Latin text and a literal translation. I don't read Latin myself, except for the simplest sentences, so I will be relying on others' translation and scholarship.
Ode 1.37 Nunc est bibendum (https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Translation:Odes_(Horace)/Book_I/37) Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede līberō pulsanda tellūs, nunc Saliāribus ōrnāre pulvīnar deōrum tempus erat dapibus, sodālēs. antehāc nefās dēprōmere Caecūbum cellīs avītīs, dum Capitōliō rēgīna dēmentīs ruīnās fūnus et imperiō parābat contāminātō cum grege turpium morbō virōrum, quidlibet inpotēns spērāre fortūnāque dulcī ēbria; sed minuit furōrem vix una sospes nāvis ab ignibus, mentemque lymphātam Mareōticō redēgit in vērōs timōrēs Caesar, ab Italiā volantem rēmīs adurgēns, accipiter velut mollīs columbās aut leporem citus vēnātor in campīs nivālis Haemōniae, daret ut catēnīs fātāle mōnstrum, quae generōsius perīre quaerēns nec muliebriter expāvit ēnsem, nec latentīs classe citā reparāvit ōrās, ausā et iacentem vīsere rēgiam voltū serēnō, fortis et asperās tractāre serpentēs, ut ātrum corpore conbiberet venēnum, dēlīberāta morte ferōcior: saevīs Liburnīs scīlicet invidēns prīvāta dēdūcī superbō, nōn humilis mulier triumphō. Literal English Translation (from https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Translation:Odes_(Horace)/Book_I/37, with revisions from the prose translation by Steele Commager, The Odes of Horace, 90) Now it is time to drink; now with loose feet it is time for beating the earth; now it is time to decorate the gods' sacred couch for Salian feasts, comrades. Before this it was forbidden to draw forth Caecuban wine from old stores, while the Queen-- still plotting mad ruin for the Capitolium and planning the destruction of the state with a foul herd of men shameful with disease—was wild with all sorts of hopes, and drunk with sweet fortune. But it diminished her frenzy when scarcely one ship escaped from the flames, and Caesar reduced her mind, inflamed with Mareotic wine, to true fear, as he flew from Italy with straining oars, as a hawk pursues tender doves or a swift hunter the hare on the plains of snowy Haemonia, that he might put in chains that monster of fate. Wanting to die more nobly, she did not like a woman tremble at the sword, nor repair to hidden shores with her swift fleet, but, having dared to see her fallen palace with a tranquil face, she bravely took to herself the harsh-scaled serpents and drank in their black venom with her whole body, in her chosen death growing fiercer. Unwilling to be taken away by Liburnian warships, no humble woman, she scorned to be led as a private citizen, a captive in our triumph. Updated with photo, 18 Oct 2023. Send comments to [email protected]
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