Nay, do not pout. You'll wake, no doubt, to right Imperial feeling, O!
The Empire's wide and can't be tied by shackles greed-begotten, O!
My only duty now, my beauty, 's not—to sell your cotton, O!
Of bulk and bale your sale won't fail—if you keep up the quality, O!
And do not trust to "devil's-dust"—which mars our merchant-polity, O!
Some rascal-muffs, with loaded stuffs, have spoiled the Eastern market, O!
Miss India there will tell you where, and when she whispers, hark it, O!
But with good goods you'll hold your own, despite that import duty, O!
But you can't have all your own way, my bold—but angry—beauty, O!
Miss India, there needs constant care; she has not your resources, O!