Horace, Ode 1.6

Scriberis Vario fortis et hostium

victor, Maeonii carminis alite,

quam rem cumque ferox navibus aut equis

miels te duce gesserit.

Nos, Agrippa, neque haec diceere nec gravem

Palidae stomachum cedere nescii

nec cursus duplicis per mare Ulixei

nec saevam Pelopis domum

conamur, tenues grandia, dum pudor

imbellisque lyrae Musa potens vetat

laudes egregii Caesaris et tuas

culpa deterere ingeni.

Quis Martem tunica tectum adamantina

digne scripserit aut pulvere Troico

nigrum Merionen aut ope Palladis

Tydiden superis parem?

Nos convivia, nos proelia virginum

sectis in iuvenes unguibus acrium

contamus vacui, sive quid urimur,

non praeter solitum leves.

You will be written about by Varius as strong and a

conquerer of enemies, by the poet of Maeonian song,

whatever thing a bold soldier with ships or with horses

will carry with you as leader.

Agrippa, do not let us try to speak these things nor

to yield to the heavy wrath of stubborn Achilles

nor the wandering of two-faced Ulysses through the sea

nor the savage house of Pelops,

while the modest and powerful Muse of

unwarlike lyre forbids to diminish the praise of

distinguished Caesar and your fault

of talent.

Who will write appropriately of Mars covered

with an inflexible tunic or of Meriones black

with Trojan dust or Tydides equal to the gods

by the power of Athena?

We sing of symposiums, we sing of battles of bitter

maidens with untrimmed nails against young men,

whether we are empty or we burn,

we are light not beyond custom.