Spare, oh! spare the father of my children, the partner of my bed, my husband, my all that’s dear.
Consider, oh! consider, he did not become what he is by iniquity, and that what he possesses was the inheritance of a long line of flourishing ancestors,
Who, in those smiling days, when the intruders of Great Britain were not heard of in the fertile plains of Indostan, reaped their harvest in quiet, and enjoyed their patrimony unmolested.
Think, oh! think, that the God whom thou worshippest delighteth not in the blood of the innocent; remember thy own commandment, “Thou shalt not kill,” and obey the order of Heaven.
Give me back my Almas Ali Cawn, and take all our wealth.
Strip us of our jewels and precious stones, of our gold and silver, but take not away the life of my husband.
Innocence is sealed on his brow,
And the milk of human kindness flows round his heart.
Let us wander through the deserts, let us become tillers and labourers on the delightful spot of which he was once the master:
But spare, oh! mighty Sir, spare his life!