A holiday, a holiday,
and the first one of the year,
Lord Arlen's wife went into the church,
the gospel she would hear.

And when the ritual was done,
she cast her eyes about,
and there she spied little Matty Groves
just a'walkin' 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.

I can't come home, I won't come home,
to sleep with you tonight,
by the rings on your fingers, I can tell,
you are Lord Arlen's wife.

But, if I am Lord Arlen's wife,
Lord Arlen's not at home,
for he is away in the wood to hunt,
where the hart and hare do roam.

And a servant who was standing by,
on hearing what was said,
he swore Lord Arlen, he would know,
before the sun would set.

And in his haste 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.

In sheets, and sweat, and perfumed flesh,
Matty Groves, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, Lord Arlen,
was standin' at his feet,

saying, how do you like my feather bed?
how do you like my sheets?
how do you like my ladylove
who lies in your arms asleep?

Well, I do prefer your feather bed,
and I do prefer your sheets,
but I most prefer your ladylove,
who lies in my arms asleep.

Well, get up, get up, Lord Arlen cried,
get up as quick as you can,
I'll never have it said in fair England,
I slew a naked man.

I can't get up, sir, I won't get up,
I can't get up for my life,
Sir, you have two long beaten swords,
and I've not a pocket knife.

Well, it's true I have two beaten swords,
and they cost me deep in the purse,
but you shall have the better of them,
and I shall have the worse.

And you shall strike the very first blow,
and best strike it like a man,
for 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 Arlen sore.
Lord Arlen struck the very next blow,
and Matty struck no more.

And then Lord Arlen took his wife,
and he sat her on his knee,
sayin' who do you like the better of us,
now is it Matty Groves or me?

And then up spoke his own dear wife,
never heard to speak to free,
sayin' I'd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips,
than you or your finery.

And then Lord Arlen pushed his wife,
and loudly he did bawl.
He struck his sword right through her heart,
and he pinned her to 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.