Ovid

. . . One was the festival of Anna Perenna, a festival of fertility, longevity, and prosperity. It was an occasion for fun and exuberant but harmless excess. The poet Ovid caught all the joy and charm of the event:

The ordinary people come [to the banks of the Tiber]:
And scattering themselves over the green grass,
They drink and lie down, each man with his woman.
Some remain under the open sky, a few put up tents
Others build leafy huts of twigs.
Some set up reeds instead of unbending columns
Over which they spread their togas.
Yet they grow warm with sun and wine, and pray
For as many years as cups of wine they take
And they drink that many

There also they sing the songs they have hears in the theaters,
And they beat time to the words with lively hands.
Putting down the bowl, they join in rough ring dances,
And the trim girlfriend dances with her hair flying.
As they return home, they stagger and are a spectacle to the vulgar.
When meeting them the crowd calls them blesed.
The procession came my way recently (a worthy sign
in my opinion,
A drunk woman dragged along a drunk old man. ~ Page 152