Horace Ode 1.37

Now it is time to drink, now it is time the earth be struck with a free foot, now it was time to burden the couch of the gods with Salian feasts, comrades. Before this it was wrong to draw off Caecuban from the ancestral cellars, while the queen was preparing mad ruins for the Capitoline and destruction for (our) power with her polluted flock of men foul with shame, mad to hope for anything and drunk with sweet fortune. But hardly one ship safe from the fires lessened her madness, and Caesar reduced her mind frenzied with Mareotic (wine) into true fears, with his oars pressing on her flying from Italy swiftly as a soft dove or the swift hunter a hare in the snowy plains of Haemonia, to give the destructive monster over to chains; who, seeking to die more nobly, neither became frightened of the sword like a woman nor sought the shores with her swift fleet; having dared both to see the fallen palace with a calm face and to draw up the harsh serpents bravely, to drink in the dark poison with her body, fiercer by her determined death, begrudging to be lead as a private (citizen) by savage Liburnians for a proud triumph, not as a humble woman.