Dm A holiday, a holyday F The first one of the year C Lord Arlenʼs wife came into the church Am Dm The gospel for to hear Am And when the meeting it was done C She cast her eyes about G And there she saw little Matty Groves Em Am 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 tonight Oh, I canʼt come home, I wonʼt come home And sleep with you tonight By the rings on your fingers I can tell You are Lord Arlenʼs wife ʼT is true I am lord Arlenʼs wife Lord Arlenʼs not at home He is out to the far corn fields Bringing the yearlings home And the servant who was standing by And hearing what was said He swore Lord Arlen he would know Before the sun would set And in his hurry to carry the news He filled his breast and ran And when he came to the broad mill stream He took off his shoes and swam Little Matty Groves, he laid down And took a little sleep When he awoke Lord Arlen Was standing at his feet Saying how do you like my feather bed And how do you like my sheets And how do you like my lady Who lies in your arms to sleep O well I like your feather bed And well I like your sheets But better I like your lady maid Who lies in my arms to sleep Well get up get up Lord Arlen cried Get up as quick as you can Itʼll never be said in fair England I slew a naked man Oh I wonʼt get up I wonʼt getup I canʼt get up for my life For you have two long beating swords And have not a pocket knife Well itʼs true I have two beating swords They cost me deep in the purse But you will have the better of them And I will have the worst And you will strikke the very first blow And strike it like a man And I will strike the very next blow And hit you if I can So Matty struck the very first blow But struck Lord Arlenʼs sword Lord Arlen struck the very next blow And Matty struck no more And the Lord Arlen he took his wife And he sat her on his knee Saying who do like the best of us Matty groves or me And then up spoke his own dear wife Never heard het speak so free Iʼd rather get a kiss from dead Mattyʼs lips Than you and your finery Lord Arlen he jumped up And loudly he did bawl He stuck his wife right through the heart And pinned her against the wall A grave a grave Lord Arlen cried To put these lovers in But bury my lady at the top For she was of noble kin.
