। ॥ १९ ॥
In plain words
This world is thick with hopeless hoping. It fastens me to the doorsteps of petty men's houses. Its end never comes. It is where sin lives, and it turns out grief without stopping. Why won't you lift this exhaustion off me? Whose good is being served? Tell me. And if this is what pleases you, Śiva — then we have everything we came for.
Close to the Sanskrit
In saṃsāra — teeming with wretched hopes, fastening one to the doorways of the houses of unworthy masters, whose end is unreachable, the abode of sin, the begetter of sorrow — why do you not take away my toil? For whose benefit? Speak. If this is your pleasure, O Śiva, then indeed we are fulfilled.