To the King, that he war Johne Thomsounis Man

Schir, for ȝour Grace bayth nicht and day,
Richt hartlie on my kneis I pray,
With all devotioun that I can,
God gif ȝe war Johne Thomsounis man !

For war it so, than weill war me,
But benifice I wald nocht be ;
My hard fortoun wer endit than :
God gif ȝe war Johne Thomsounis man !

Than wald sum reuth within ȝow rest,
For saik of hir, fairest and best
In Bartane, sen hir tyme began ;
God gif ȝe war Johne Thomsounis man !

For it micht hurt in no degre,
That one, so fair and gude as sche,
Throw hir vertew sic wirschip wan,
As ȝow to mak Johne Thomsounis man.

I wald gif all that ever I haue
To that conditioun, sa God me saif,
That ȝe had vowit to the Swan,
Ane ȝeir to be Johne Thomsounis man.

The mersy of that sweit meik Rois,
Suld soft ȝow, Thirsill, I suppois,
Quhois pykis throw me so reuthles ran ;
God gif ȝe war Johne Thomsounis man !

My aduocat, bayth fair and sweit,
The hale reiosing of my spreit,
Wald speid in-to my erandis than ;
And ȝe war anis Johne Thomsounis man.

Ever quhen I think ȝow harde or dour,
Or mercyles in my succour,
Than pray I God, and sweit Saint An,
Gif that ȝe war Johne Thomsounis man !

Finis quod Dunbar.