Ane Orisoun. Quhen the Gouernour past in France

Thow that in hewin for our salvatioun,
Maid justice, mercie, and pietie, to aggre ;
And Gabriell send with the salutatioun
On-to the mayd of maist humilite ;
And maid thy sone to tak humanite,
For our demeritis to be of Marie borne ;
Haue of us pietie, and our protectour be !
For, but thy help, this kynrick is forlorne.

O hie supernale Father of sapience,
Quhilk of thy vertew dois everie folie chais,
Ane spark of thy hie excellent prudence
Giff ws, that nouther wit nor ressoun hes !
In quhais heartis no prudence can tak place,
Exemple, nor experience of beforne ;
To us, synnaris, ane drop send of thy grace !
For, but thy help, this kynrick is forlorne.

We ar so beistlie, dull, and ignorant,
Our rudnes may nocht lichtlie be correctit ;
Bot thow, that art of mercy militant,
Thy vengeance seiss on us to syn subjectit,
And gar thy justice be with reuth correctit ;
For quyt away so wyld fra us is worne,
And in folie we ar so fer infectit,
That, but thy help, this kynrick is forlorne.

Thow, that on rude ws ransomit and redemit,
Rew on our syn, befoir ȝour sicht decydit ;
Spair our trespas, quhilk may nocht be expremit,
For breif of justice, for we may nocht abyd it,
Help this pure realme, in partyis all devydit !
Ws succour send, that wair the croun of thorne,
That with the gift of grace it may be gydit !
For, but thy help, this kynrick is forlorne.

Lord ! hald thy hand, that strikken hes so soir ;
Haue of ws pietie, eftir our punytioun;
And gif ws grace the for to greif no more,
And gar us mend with penance and contritioun ;
And to thy vengeance mak non additioun,
As thow that of michtis may to morne
Fra cair to confort thow mak restitioun
For, but thy help, this kynrick is forlorne.

Quod Dunbar quhen the Gouernour past in France.