In plain words
The poet, to the Lord: Because my speech is impure, O Mādhava [Śrī's consort], I am not fit to praise you with my lips; yet my tongue knows no one but you. I fear that, and it is not in my control. Even if you are angry, thinking This man talks foolishness, I cannot bear my tongue's eagerness. The wise take a good word [an omen] even from a crow's mouth, O Cause of all, O you with Garuḍa on your banner.