A Slave Is One Who Waits For

Sumer Is Icumen In, Lhude Sing Cucc. Groweth Sed, And Bloweth Med, And Springth The Wude Nu, Sing Cuccu!

Haie! Haie! These Were The Swift To Harry; These The Keen-scented; These Were The Souls Of Blood. Slow On The Leash, Pallid The Leash-men!

'tis The White Stag, Fame, We're A-hunting, Bid The World's Hounds Come To Horn!

In Verse One Can Take Any Damn Constant One Likes, One Can Alliterate, Or Assone, Or Rhyme, Or Quant, Or Smack, Only One Must Leave The Other Elements Irregular.

Until You Know Who Has Lent What To Whom, You Know Nothing Whatever Of Politics, You Know Nothing Whatever Of History, You Know Nothing Of International Wrangles.