The speaker stands apart from a world of war talk and committee authority. The first two lines sketch a place where "all discourse" is about conflict and where one man can order a whole group around. The poem doesn't say who runs this place, but the tone suggests a world of rank, noise and control, and the speaker wants no part of it.
Instead, the speaker asks for something small and physical: "my own rose / and an onion to suck." One is beautiful, the other plain and sharp, and both are simple pleasures that belong to one person. They are the opposite of commands and debate. Then comes the surprise in the last lines: the others are jealous. It is "strange" to the speaker, which suggests a mix of puzzlement and quiet amusement. The mood is dry, wry and a little defiant. Standing outside the power games, the speaker seems to have something the insiders secretly want.