97. Judas

Book IV

I

Hit wes upon a Scere-thorsday
that ure loverd aros;
Ful milde were the wordès
he spec to Judas.

II

‘Judas, thou most to Jurselem,
oure mete for to bugge;
Thritti platen of selver
thou bere up othi rugge.

III

‘Thou comest fer ithe brode stret,
fer ithe brode strete,
Summe of thine tunesmen
ther thou meist i-mete.’

IV

Imette wid is soster,
the swikele wimon:
‘Judas, thou were wrthè
me stende the wid ston,
For the false prophete
that tou bilevest upon.’

V

‘Be stille, leve soster,
thin herte the to-breke!
Wiste min loverd Crist,
ful wel he wolde be wreke.’