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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 'til 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 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 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 mill stream
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 wife
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"

"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 Donald sore.
Lord Donald struck the very next blow
And Matty struck no more.

And then Lord Donald he took his wife
And he sat her upon 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 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."
song info:
Verified yes
LanguageEnglish
Genre
Rank
Duration00:08:08
Charts
Copyright ©Mute Song
WriterTraditional, Ashley Hutchings, Emily Slade, Roger Wilson, Simon Care
Lyrics licensed byLyricFind
AddedDecember 25th, 2004
Last updatedMarch 7th, 2022
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