In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, to the conch: Pāñcajanya, if one tells what you eat, it is the nectar of the mouth of the one who measured the worlds; if one tells where you sleep, it is on the hand of the ocean-coloured one. So the throngs of women all raise a great outcry about you [that you rob them of what sustains them]: what you are doing is not right.