You raise your voice against my choice 'twixt two unwelcome courses, O!
But I—though loth—considering both on my responsibility, O!
Have done my best, and for my pains from both meet incivility, O!
I've tried to bear the balance fair, 'twixt countries, trades, and classes, O!
And lo! my lot is anger hot from both you bickering lasses, O!
Miss India's eyes, at the Excise, excitedly are flashing, O!
My dusky dear, 'tis hard to steer 'twixt interests wildly clashing, O!
I love ye both, and I were loth to make—or see—ye quarrel, O!
But—a divided duty's mine, and that's my homily's moral, O!
And so, my dears, abate your fears, and likewise stint your shindy, O!