The baron came to the grene wode,[L109] Wi' mickle dule and care; 110 And there he first spied Gill Morice Kameing his zellow hair. "Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, My lady loed thee weel; The fairest part of my bodie 115 Is blacker than thy heel. "Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice, For a' thy great beautie, Ze's rew the day ze eir was born; That head sall gae wi' me." 120 Now he has drawn his trusty brand, And slait it[L122] on the strae; And thro' Gill Morice' fair body He's gar cauld iron gae. And he has tain Gill Morice' head,[L125] 125 And set it on a speir: The meanest man in a' his train Has gotten that head to bear. And he has tain Gill Morice up, Laid him across his steid, 130 And brocht him to his painted bowr, And laid him on a bed. The lady sat on castil wa', Beheld baith dale and doun; And there she saw Gill Morice' head 135 Cum trailing to the toun. "Far better I loe that bluidy head, Bot and that zellow hair, Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands, As they lig here and thair." 140 And she has tain her Gill Morice, And kissd baith mouth and chin: "I was once as fow of Gill Morice, As the hip is o' the stean. "I got ze in my father's house, 145 Wi' mickle sin and shame; I brocht thee up in gude green wode, Under the heavy rain. "Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, And fondly seen thee sleip; 150 Bot now I gae about thy grave, The saut tears for to weip." And syne she kissd[L153] his bluidy cheik, And syne his bluidy chin: "O better I loe my Gill Morice 155 Than a' my kith and kin!" "Away, away, ze il woman,[L157] And an ill deith mait ze dee: Gin I had ken'd he'd bin zour son, He'd neir bin slain for mee." 160 5. The stall copies of the ballad complete the stanza thus: _His face was fair, lang was his hair, In the wild woods he staid_; But his fame was for a fair lady That lived on Carronside. Which is no injudicious interpolation, inasmuch as it is founded upon the traditions current among the vulgar, regarding Gil Morice's comely face and long yellow hair. MOTHERWELL. 51-58. A familiar commonplace in ballad poetry. See _Childe Vyet_, _Lady Maisry_, _Lord Barnaby_, &c. 95, mazer. 109 His hair was like the threeds of gold Drawne frae Minerva's loome; His lipps like roses drapping dew; His breath was a' perfume.