In plain words
Āṇṭāḷ, of Tirumāliruñcōlai: All over Tirumāliruñcōlai the little red cochineal insects have risen and spread like red vermilion powder, alas. Shall we ever escape from the net of the one with beautiful shoulders, who long ago planted Mandara in the sea [as the churning staff] and took its sweet, rich essence [Śrī, who rose from the churning]?