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A holiday, a holiday |
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And the first one of the year |
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Lord Donald'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, 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 'til light" |
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"Oh, I can't come home, I won't come home |
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And sleep with you tonight |
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By the rings on your fingers |
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I can tell you are Lord Donald's wife" |
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"But if I am Lord Donald's wife |
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Lord Donald's not at home |
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He is out in the far cornfields |
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Bringing the yearlings home" |
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And a servant who was standing by |
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And hearing what was said |
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He swore Lord Donald he would know |
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Before the sun would set |
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And in his hurry to carry the news |
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He bent his breast and ran |
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And when he came to the broad mill stream |
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He took off his shoes and he swam |
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Little Matty Groves, he lay down |
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And took a little sleep |
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When he awoke, Lord Donald |
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Was standing at 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 |
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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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And well, I like your sheets |
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But better I like your lady gay |
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Who lies in my arms asleep" |
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"Well, get up, get up", Lord Donald cried |
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"Get up as quick as you can |
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It'll never be said in fair England |
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I slew a naked man" |
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"Oh, I can't get up, 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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"And you will strike the very first blow |
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And strike it like a man |
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I will strike the very next blow |
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And I'll kill you if I can" |
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So Matty struck the very first blow |
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And he hurt Lord Donald sore |
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Lord Donald struck the very next blow |
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And Matty struck no more |
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And then Lord Donald he took his wife |
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And he sat her on his knee |
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Saying, "Who do you like the best of us |
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Matty Groves or me?" |
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And then up spoke his own dear wife |
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Never heard to 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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Lord Donald, he jumped up |
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And loudly he did bawl |
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He struck his wife right through the heart |
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And pinned her against the wall |
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"A grave, a grave", Lord Donald cried |
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"To put these lovers in |
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But bury my lady at the top |
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For she was of noble kin" |
