On the Ides is held the jovial feast of Anna Perenna not far from the banks, O Tiber, who comest from afar . The common folk come, and scattered here and there over the green grass they drink, every lad reclining beside his lass . Some camp under the open sky ; a few pitch tents ; some make a leafy hut of boughs . Others set up reeds in place of rigid pillars, and stretching out their robes place them upon the reeds . But they grow warm with sun and wine, and they pray for as many years as they take cups, and they count the cups they drink . There shall you find a man who drains as many goblets as Nestor numbered years, and a woman who would live to the Sibyl’s age if cups could work the charm . There they sing the ditties they picked up in the theatres, beating time to the words with nimble hands ; they set the bowl down, and trip in dances, lubberly, while the spruce sweetheart skips about with streaming hair . On the way home they reel, a spectacle for vulgar eyes, and the crowd that meets them calls them “blest .” I met the procession lately ; I thought it notable ; a drunk old woman lugged a drunk old man .
— Ovid —
*[ WSB ].
Occupation : Poet . 