A holiday, a holiday,
And the first one of the year.
Lord Arnold'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 Arnold's wife.»
«But if I am Lord Arnold's wife,
Lord Arnold's not at home.
He is out in the far cornfields
Bringing the yearlings home.»
And a servant who was standing by
And hearing what was said,
He swore Lord Arnold 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 he swam.
Little Matty Groves, he lay down
And took a little sleep,
When he awoke, Lord Arnold
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 Arnold cried,
«Get up as quick as you can
It'll never be said in fair England
That I slew a naked man.»
«Oh, 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 will 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 Arnold sore
Lord Arnold struck the very next blow
And Matty struck no more.
And then Lord Arnold 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,
«I'd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips
Than you or your finery.»
Lord Arnold 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 Arnold cried,
«To put these lovers in
But bury my lady at the top
For she was of noble kin.»