In plain words
Sisodiyā Rāṇā, why ever did you send me that cup? Good or ill, I have done you none of it: why are you angry? He who gave a body to you and a body to me: it was his praise, Hari's praise, that I sang. Poison was stirred into a bowl of gold, and Dayārām the paṇḍā carried it in. I did not look this way or that: I made it caraṇāmṛt and drank it down. I am not of today or yesterday, Rāṇā: I was there when this cosmos was spread. I took birth in the house of the Meṛtiyās, and was called by the name Mīrā. He kept the vow Prahlād had made: he tore the pillar open and came running. Mīrā says: lord Giridhar Nāgar has raised high the honour of his own.