In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: When the monkeys pushed the mountains along, the guileless squirrels themselves dipped into the water, rolled in the sand and ran, and set about filling in the wave-tossed sea: I am not like even them. A deceiver with a heart as hard as trees, I do no service to Araṅgaṉ even in thought, and I, given this precious birth, stand forgetting him, to my ruin.