In plain words
Daśaratha, lamenting to Rāma: O son, glory of the line of Kausalyā, whose long eyes, lined with red, are like a spear bent on killing! O you whose mountain-like shoulders, full of strength, bear the curved bow! You have learned only the way to melt the heart of me, of grievous sins. Before, you slept on soft beds; today, going now into the vast forest, have you learned to sleep on a bed of stone in the shade of a tree, O Kākutstha, O dark king?