Imette wid is soster, þe swikele wimon: 'Iudas, þou were wrþe me stende þe wid ston, (_bis_) For þe false prophete þat tou bileuest upon.' 'Be stille, leue soster, þin herte þe tobreke! 10 Wiste min Louerd Crist, ful wel He wolde be wreke.' 'Iudas, go þou on þe roc, heie upon þe ston, Lei þin heued i my barm, slep þou þe anon.' Sone so Iudas of slepe was awake, Þritti platen of seluer from hym weren itake. 15 He drou hymselve bi þe top, þat al it lauede a blode; Þe Iewes out of Iurselem awenden he were wode. Foret hym com þe riche Ieu þat heiste Pilatus: 'Wolte sulle þi Louerd, þat hette Iesus?' 'I nul sulle my Louerd for nones cunnes eiste, 20 Bote hit be for þe þritti platen þat He me bitaiste.' 'Wolte sulle þi Lord Crist for enes cunnes golde?' 'Nay, bote hit be for þe platen þat He habben wolde.' In him com ur Lord gon, as is postles seten at mete: 'Wou sitte ye, postles, ant wi nule ye ete? (_bis_) 25 Ic am iboust ant isold today for oure mete.' Up stod him Iudas: 'Lord, am I þat? I nas neuer o þe stude þer me Þe euel spec.' Up him stod Peter, ant spec wid al is miste: 'Þau Pilatus him come wid ten hundred cnistes, (_bis_) 30 Yet ic wolde, Louerd, for Þi loue fiste.' 'Stille þou be, Peter! Wel I þe icnowe; Þou wolt fursake me þrien ar þe coc him crowe.' H. THE BLACKSMITHS. British Museum MS. Arundel 292 (about 1425-50), f. 71 b. Swarte smekyd smeþes smateryd wyth smoke Dryue me to deth wyth den of here dyntes. Swech noys on nyghtes ne herd men neuer: What knauene cry and clateryng of knockes! Þe cammede kongons cryen after 'col, col!' 5 And blowen here bellewys, þat al here brayn brestes: 'Huf, puf!' seith þat on; 'haf, paf!' þat oþer. Þei spyttyn and spraulyn and spellyn many spelles; Þei gnauen and gnacchen, þei gronys togydere, And holdyn hem hote wyth here hard hamers. 10 Of a bole-hyde ben here barm-fellys; Here schankes ben schakeled for the fere flunderys; Heuy hamerys þei han, þat hard ben handled, Stark strokes þei stryken on a stelyd stokke: Lus, bus! las, das! rowtyn be rowe. 15 Swech dolful a dreme þe deuyl it todryue! Þe mayster longith a lityl, and lascheth a lesse, Twyneth hem tweyn, and towchith a treble: Tik, tak! hic, hac! tiket, taket! tyk, tak! Lus, bus! lus, das! swych lyf thei ledyn 20 Alle cloþemerys: Cryst hem gyue sorwe! May no man for brenwaterys on nyght han hys rest! I. RATS AWAY. Bodleian MS. Rawlinson C. 288, f. 113 (15th-century writing, blurred).