You didn’t stop for fuss,—
Britanny’s trident-prongs, John,
Was good ’nough law for us.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,
Though physic’s good,” says he,
“It doesn’t foller thet he can swaller.
Prescriptions signed ‘J. B.’
Put up by you an’ me!”
We own the ocean, tu, John: