Come to heel, body. Come to heel!
Who and what are you to steal,
The birthright of your betters. Are you heir
To immortality and do you dare
To wield the sceptre and repeal
The laws of precedence? Come you to heel.
Down, down, I tell you, know your place,
No mere usurper of plebeian race
Shall sit upon my will’s imperial throne
And exercise the powers that are my own.
Ay! though your claims to sovereignty seem very real
You are my slave and subject. Come to heel!
There in your place, fear not, I’ll treat you well,
All in my territory safely dwell.
Those rebel hordes the senses, I shall train
To military service, they shall reign,
My loyal viceroys and my orders seal
With prompt obedience. Come to heel!
No compromise can be between we two,
One must be master — and it is not you,
Poor temporary instrument of an hour
Clutching so greedily the reins of power.
Only by your surrender am I free to deal
With matters that concern me much. Good body, keep to heel.
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, pages 184-185
plebeian = someone (or something) common, coarse, unrefined, or vulgar in manner or nature; from the name for a member of the lower social classes of ancient Rome (the plebs, or common people, of Rome)