In plain words
The poet, to the Lord of Araṅgam: O mighty one, who that day held up a mountain [Gōvardhana] against the rain before any harm could come, O river of sweetness: I am caught in the net of women whose glances are like a fawn’s, and I writhe. Is it right for you to leave me without a look of grace? Is it not you I am calling, O First Being, O you who dwell in the great city of Araṅgam?