In plain words
Slander does me good; rust never settles on gold. I took up the jogī's way, having seen the world going past me, for the sake of worshipping Hari. If a single slip should fall in what I do, it is my Satguru who is shamed. Bless you, people, for the things you do: you have made an elephant out of an ant. Out of what none of you saw and none of you faced, O, you have raised talk upon talk and a quarrel out of it. I left the lineage, I left the household; I left fondness itself behind me, mother. I let go the world's claim on me, let go greed and the wish to be thought well of. I have laid my veil's end about the necks of both; say now whatever pleases your heart. This is the praise Mīrāṃ Bāī sings: as it was spoken, so it was borne.