Poem

Poem, handwritten in pencil, regarding the Prismatic Club on two loose pages of a ledger book. The poem is illustrated with drawing of a triangular prism at the top of the first page, and two images of a group of 14 men, 11 of them in matching triangular hats seated around a table with drinks, then nine men in similar hats standing and holding hands in a circle. In the latter image, one man is labeled as Lillibridge, and another Boynton. The poem reads as follows:

1
Come one, come all, ye sacred nine
Assist this halting muse of mine
I faine would sing in rhythmic lays
the humor of Prismatic ways

2
But since tis true what Horace writ
Poeta nacitur not fit
I can't expect the muses aid
For I'm no poet born, nor made

3
T'were vain to mount the winged Pegasus
(or) And strive to scale the famed Parnassus
Prismatic ways let others sing
Who can poetic powers bring

4
But may I not the aid invoke
Of all the gods of fun and wit
To inspire the quip, the speech, or joke
Of all who round this table sit?

5
The same old Horace also said
Dulce est desipere---------------------in loco
And sure with this we all agree
To play the fool is not forbade

6
Our table's spread with gastronomics
With rich and various liquid tonics
With Walker Club and foaming beer
Whose fragrant fumes promote good cheer

7
Come then, ye gods, loose every tongue
Of these Prismatics old and young
Let each say something good or bad
Be it old and stale or modern fad

8
Let each one be a prism true
Refracting rays of various hue
Then we shall see a brilliant light
A rainbow of prismatic light

9
So let us all enjoy this feast
Discarding carking cares at least
We'll spend the hour till we get up
To pass around the loving cup