In plain words
Let him go, friend, let him go; whose friend is a jogī ever? He is always turned away, my dear one; his way is crooked past all reckoning. He speaks words sweeter than sweetness, and fastens no love at all. I thought this would hold all the way to the far shore; he has let it go and walked off midway. Mīrā says: the lord Giridhar Nāgar, dear with prema, is the friend.