Tug your forelocks and back away
you peasants from Simpleton upon Strife
I smell you well from your penury and hovels
get up  and go till my grounds and grind my corn
my pleasure today to grind your wives and wenches
Commoners all with small pokey staffs and stunted daggers
your women cry ya'all cannot keepup in the setting light or at dawn
I need strong able saplings like me  to man the fields and tend acres
run, go tell your wives and wenches time to lay down and pay taxes
I put a linage in serfdom to cleanse out the dense uncouth gene pool