In plain words
The poet, to his heart: Śiva of the dark throat, whose red matted hair is mingled with the water of the Gaṅgā, ate what he begged from a white skull till his senses reeled, a sinner for the head of Brahmā he had plucked; to end his hard grief, the Lord gave him fragrant water from his garlanded chest. Think, O my heart, on his mercy, the means by which you may draw near to Māl, eminent in the virtues that befit him; long may you live.