In plain words
One girl says to her friend: Vermilion gleaming on his lovely forehead, a forehead ornament neatly set above it, and his lovely locks, he comes beneath the cool grove of peacock-feather sunshades with drums resounding all through the sky, tossing curved sticks with the cowherd boys: the cowherd child, every one of whose adornments is beyond measure. If, knowing well that we cannot live without him while he can live without us, he still comes by this street, we will cry, "He took our ball!" and surround him and keep him there, and we shall see his coral lips and his smile, my friend.