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A holiday, a holiday |
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the first one of the year |
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Lord Arnold's wife came into the church |
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the gospel for to hear |
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And when the meeting it was done |
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she cast her eyes about |
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and there she saw little Matty Groves |
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walking in the crowd |
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"Come home with me, |
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little Matty Groves. |
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Come home with me tonight. |
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Come home with me, little Matty Groves |
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and sleep with me till light." |
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"Oh I can't come home and |
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I won't go home |
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and sleep with you tonight. |
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By the rings on your fingers I can see |
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that you are my master's wife." |
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"And what if I'm Lord Arnold's wife. |
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For he is not at home. |
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He is out in the far country |
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bringing the yearlings home." |
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So little Matty Groves, he lay down |
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and took a little sleep |
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when he awoke Lord Arnold |
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he was standing by his feet. |
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Saying "How do you like my feather bed |
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and how do you like my sheets? |
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How do you like my lady wife |
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who lies in your arms asleep?" |
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"Oh well, I like your feather bed, |
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better I like your sheets, |
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best of all I like your lady gay |
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who lies in my arms asleep." |
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"Get up! Get up!" Lord Arnold cried, |
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"Get up as quick as you can. |
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Let it never be said in fair England |
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that I slew a naked man." |
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"Oh I won't get up and I won't get up |
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I can't get up for my life |
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for you have two long beaten swords |
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and I not a pocket knife." |
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"Well it's true I have two beaten swords |
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and they cost me deep in the purse, |
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but you will have the better of them |
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and I will have the worse." |
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So Matty struck the very first blow |
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and he hurt Lord Arnold sore |
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Lord Arnold struck the very next blow |
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and Matty struck up the floor. |
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And then he took his own dear wife |
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and sat her down on his knee |
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saying "who do you like the best of us now, |
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your dead Matty Groves or me?" |
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And then spoke up his own dear wife, |
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never heard her speak so free |
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"I'd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips, |
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than you or your finery" |
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And then Lord Arnold he jumped up |
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and loudly did he bawl. |
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He struck his wife right through the heart |
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and pinned her up to the wall. |
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"Oh a grave, a grave", Lord Arnold cried |
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"to put these lovers in. |
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Won't you bury my lady at the top |
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for she was a noble kin. |
