Matty Groves (feat. Alina Hardin)

A holiday, a holiday

The first one of the year

Lord Arland'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

Sleep with you tonight

By the rings on your fingers I can tell

You are my master's wife

Well, if I am Lord Arland's wife

Lord Arland'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 Arland 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

Matty Groves, he lay down

And took a little sleep

When he awoke, Lord Arland

Was standing at his feet

Saying, how do you like my feather bed

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 Arland cried

Get up as quick as you can

It'll never be said in fair England

That I slew a naked man

Well, 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

And 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 Arland sore

Lord Arland struck the very next blow

And Matty struck no more

And then Lord Arland took his wife

And 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 Arland 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 Arland cried

To put these lovers in

But bury my lady at the top

She was of noble kin