Matty Groves

A holiday , a holiday

And the first one of the year

Lord Donald's wife came into the church

The gospel for to hear.

And when the meeting it was done

She cast her eyes about

And there she saw little Matty Groves

Walking in the crowd.

Come home with me, little Matty Groves

Come home with me tonight

Come home with me, little Matty Groves

And sleep with me till light.

Oh, I can't come home, I won't come home

And sleep with you tonight,

By the rings on your fingers I can tell

You are Lord Donald's wife.

What if I am Lord Donald's wife

Lord Donald's not at home.

He's out in the far corn fields

Bringing the yearlings home.

And a servant who was standing by

And hearing what was said

He swore Lord Donald he would know

Before the sun would set.

And in his hurry to carry the news

He bent his breast and ran

And when he came to the broad millstream,

He took off his shoes and swam.

Little Matty Groves, he lay down

And took a little sleep

When he awoke, Lord Donald

Was standing at his feet.

Saying How do you like my feather bed?

And how do you like my sheets?

How do you like my lady,

Who lies in your arms asleep?

Oh, well I like your feather bed

And well I like your sheets

But better I like your lady gay,

Who lies in my arms asleep.

Well, get up, get up, Lord Donald cried

Get up as quick as you can

It'll never be said in fair England

I slew a naked man.

I can't get up, I won't get up

I can't get up for my life

For you have two long beaten swords

And I not a pocket knife.

Well, it's true I have two beaten swords

And they cost me deep in the purse

But you will have the better of them

And I will have the worse.

And you wil strike the very first blow

and strike it like a man

I will strike the very next blow

And I'll kill you if I can.

So Matty struck the very first blow

And he hurt Lord Donald sore

Lord Donald stroke the very next blow

And Matty struck no more.

And then Lord Donald he took his wife

And he sat her on his knee

Saying "Who do you like the best of us,

Matty Groves or me?"

And then up spoke his own dear wife

Never heard to speak so free

IÕd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips

Than you in your finery

Lord Donald, he jumped up

And loudly he did bawl

He struck his wife right through the heart

And pinned her against the wall

A grave, a grave! Lord Donald cried

To put these lovers in

But bury my lady at the top

For she was of noble kin.