The Complaynt and Publict Confessioun of the Kingis Auld Hound, callit Bagsche, directit to Bawtie, the Kingis best belovit Dog, and his Companzeonis

Allace ! quhome to sulde I complayne,
In my extreme necessitie:
Or quhame to sall I mak my maine
In court, na dog wyll do for me,
Beseikand sum for cheritie,
To beir my Supplicatioun,
To Scudlar, Luffra, and Bawtie,
Now, or the King pas off the town.

I have followit the court so lang,
Quhill, in gude faith, I may no mair ;
The Countre knawis I may nocht gang,
I am so crukit, auld, and sair,
That I wait nocht quhare to repair ;
For, quhen I had authoritie,
I thocht me so familiar,
I never dred necessitie.

I rew the race, that Geordie Steill,
Brocht Bawtie to the Kingis presence,
I pray God, lat him never do weill,
Sen syne I gat na audience ;
For, Bawtie now gettis sic credence,
That he lyis on the Kingis nycht gown,
Quhare, I perforce, for my offence,
Man, in the clois, ly lyke ane loun.

For I haif bene, ay to this hour,
Ane wirrear of lamb, and hog ;
Ane tyrane, and ane tulzeour,
Ane murdreissar of mony ane dog ;
Fyve foullis I chaist out throch ane scrog,
Quharefor thair motheris did me warie ;
For thay war drownit all in ane bog ;
Speir at Jhone Gordoun of Pittarie,

Quhilk in his house, did bryng me up,
And usit me to slay the deir ;
Sweit milk, and meill, he gart me sup,
That craft I leirnit sone perqueir ;
All uther vertew ran arreir,
Quhen I began to bark and flyte ;
For thare was nother monk, nor freir,
Nor wyfe, nor barne, bot I wold byte.

Quhen to the King the cace was knawin
Of my unhappy hardines,
And all the suth unto hym schawin,
How everilk dog I did oppres ;
Than, gaif his Grace command expres
I suld be brocht to his presence ;
Nochtwithstanding my wickitnes,
In Court I gat greit audience.

I schew my greit ingratitude,
To the capitane of Badzeno,
Quhilk, in his house, did find me fude
Twa yeir, with other houndis mo :
Bot quhen I saw that it was so,
That I grew heich into the court,
For his reward I wrocht hym wo,
And cruellie I did hym hurt

So thay that gave me to the King,
I was thair mortall enemie,
I tuke cure of na kynd of thyng,
Bot pleis the Kingis Majestie ;
Bot quhen he knew my crueltie,
My falset, and my plane oppressioun,
He gave command, that I suld be,
Hangit, and that without confessioun.

And yit because that I was auld,
His Grace thocht petie for to hang me,
Bot leit me wander quhare I wald ;
Than set my fais for to fang me,
And every bouchour dog doun dang me ;
Quhen I trowit best to be ane laird,
Than, in the court, ilk wicht did wrang me ;
And this I gat for my rewaird.

I had wirreit black Makesoun,
Wer nocht that rebaldis come, and red ;
Bot he was flemit of the toun,
From tyme the king saw how I bled ;
He gart lay me upon ane bed,
For with ane knife I was mischevit ;
This Makesoun, for feir, he fled,
Ane lang tyme or he was relevit.

And Patrik Strivling in Ergyle,
I bure him bakwart to the ground,
And had him slane, within ane quhyle ;
War nocht the helping of ane hound :
Yit, gat he mony bludie wound,
As yit his skyn wyll schaw the markis ;
Find me ane dog quhare ever ye found
Hes maid sa mony bludie sarkis.

Gude brother Lanceman, Lyndesayis dog,
Quhilk ay hes keipit thy lautie,
And never wirryit lamb, nor hog ;
Pray Luffra, Scudlar, and Bawtie,
Of me Bagsche to have pitie,
And provide me ane portioun,
In Dumfermeling, quhare I may dre
Pennance, for my extortioun :

Get, be thair solistatioun,
Ane letter frome the Kingis Grace,
That I may have collatioun,
With fyre and candil, in the place,
Bot I wyll leif schort tyme allace !
Want I gude fresche flesche for my gammis ;
Betuix Ashwednisday, and Paice,
I man have leave to wirrie lambis.

Bawtie, considder weill this bill,
And reid this cedull, that I send yow,
And everilk poynt thareof fulfill,
And now in tyme of mys amend yow ;
I pray yow that ye nocht pretend yow,
To clym ower hie, nor do na wrang,
Bot frome your fais with rycht defend yow,
And tak exemple quhow I gang.

I was that na man durst cum neir me,
Nor put me furth of my lugeing ;
Na dog durst fra my denner sker me,
Quhen I was tender with the King :
Now everilk tyke dois me doun thring,
The quhilk before be me war wrangit,
And sweris, I serve na uther thing,
Bot, in an helter, to be hangit.

Thocht ye be hamelie with the King,
Ye Luffra, Scudlar, and Bawtie,
Be war that ye do nocht doun thring
Your nychtbouris throw authoritie ;
And your exemple mak be me,
And beleve weill ye are bot doggis,
Thocht ye stand in the hiest gre,
Se ye byte nother lambis, nor hoggis.

Thocht ye have now greit audience,
Se that be yow be nane opprest ;
Ye wylbe punischit for your offence,
Frome tyme the King be weill confest ;
Thare is na dog, that has transgrest
Throw crueltie, and he may fang him,
His Majestie wyll tak na rest,
Tyll on ane gallous he gar hang him.

I was anis als far ben as ye ar,
And had in Court als gret credence,
And ay pretendit to be hiear ;
Bot, quhen the Kingis Excellence,
Did knaw my falset, and offence,
And my prydefull presumptioun,
I gat nane uther recompence,
Bot hoyit, and houndit, of the toun.

Was never sa unkynd ane corce,
As quhen I had authoritie :
Of my freindis, I tuke na force,
The quhilkis afore had done for me.
This proverb, is of veritie,
Quhilk I hard red, in tyll ane letter :
Hiest in Court nixt the widdie,
Without he gyde hym all the better.

I tuke na mair compt of ane lord,
Nor I did of ane keitching knaif
Thocht everilk day I maid discord,
I was set up abone the laif,
The gentill hound was to me slaif,
And with the Kingis awin fingeris fed,
The sillie rachis wald I raif ;
Thus, for my evil deidis, wes I dred :

Tharefor, Bawtie, luke best about,
Quhen thou art hiest with the King,
For then thou standest in greitest dout
Be thou nocht gude of governing :
Put na pure tyke frome his steiding.
Nor yit na sillie rachis raif ;
He sittis abone that seis all thing,
And of ane knicht can mak ane knaif.

Quhen I cam steppand ben the flure,
All rachis greit roume to me red ;
I of na creature tuke cure,
Bot lap upon the Kingis bed,
With claith of gold thocht it wer spred ;
For feir, ilk freik wald stand on far,
With everilk dog I was so dred,
Thay trimblit quhen thay hard me nar.

Gude brother Bawtie, beir thee evin,
Thocht with thy Prince thow be potent ;
It cryis ane vengeance frome the hevin,
For till oppres ane innocent :
In welth be than maist vigilent,
And do na wrang to dog, nor beiche,
As I have, quhilk I now repent,
Na messane reif, to mak thee riche.

Nor for augmenting of thy boundis,
Ask na reward, schir, at the King,
Quhilk may do hurt to uther houndis,
Expres aganis Goddis bidding :
Chais na pure tyke from his midding,
Throw cast of Court, or Kingis requeist ;
And of thyself presume no thing,
Except thow art ane brutall beist

Traist weill thare is none oppressour,
Nor boucheour dog, drawer of blude,
Ane tyrane, nor ane transgressour,
That sall now of the King get gude;
From tyme furth, that his Celsitude
Dois cleirlie knaw the veritie,
Bot he is flemit, for to conclude,
Or hangit heych upon ane tre.

Thocht ye be cuplit all togidder,
With silk, and swoulis of sylver fyne ;
Ane dog may cum furth of Balquhidder,
And gar yow leid ane lawer tryne ;
Than sall your plesour turne in pyne,
Quhen ane strange hounter blawis his horne,
And all your treddingis gar yow tyne ;
Than sall your labour be forlorne.

I say no more, gude freindis, Adew !
In dreid we never meit agane :
That ever I kend the Court, I rew,
Was never wycht so will of wane :
Lat no dog serve our Soverane,
Without he be of gude conditioun ;
Be he perverst, I tell yow plane,
He hes neid of ane gude remissioun.

That I am on this way mischevit,
The Erle of Hountlie I may warie,
He wend I had bene weill relevit
Quhen to the Courte he gart me carie ;
Wald God, I war now in Pittarie,
Because I have bene so evil deidie :
Adew ! I dar na langer tarie,
In dreid, I waif in tyll ane widdie.