"More pale she was, when she sought my grace,
"Than prymrose pale and wan;
"And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood,
"That down my broad sword ran."
Wi' that the boy has bent his bow,
It was baith stout and lang;
And thro' and thro' him, Jellon Grame,
He gar'd an arrow gang.
Says—"Lie ye there, now, Jellon Grame!
"My malisoun gang you wi'!