Judas Judas Hit wes upon a Scere-thorsday that ure loverd aros; Ful milde were the wordes he spec to Judas.Child has only two versions of Judas, one (A here) in volume 1 and a further version (B) which he found later and included in the appendix. Bronson has no traditional tunes for the ballad. [ A | B ] Try this [ LINK ] to traditional versions from the archives. Version A[ HOME ] [ Numbered List ] MS. B. 14, 39, of the thirteenth century, library of Trinity College, Cambridge, as printed in Wright & Halliwell’s Reliqui? Antiquae, i, 144. 1 Hit wes upon a Scere-thorsday that ure loverd aros; Ful milde were the wordes he spec to Judas. 2 ‘Judas, thou most to Jurselem, oure mete for to bugge; Thritti platen of selver thou here up othi rugge. 3 ‘Thou comest fer ithe brode stret, fer ithe brode strete; Summe of thine tunesmen ther thou meiht imete.’ 4. . . . . Imette wid is soster, the swikele wimon. 5 ‘Judas, thou were wrthe me stende the wid ston, For the false prophete that tou bilevest upon.’ 6 ‘Be stille, leve soster, thin herte the tobreke! Wiste min loverd Crist, ful wel he wolde be wreke.’ 7 ‘Judas, go thou on the roc, heie upon the ston; Lei thin heved imy barm, slep thou the anon.’ 8 Sone so Judas of slepe was awake, Thritti platen of selver from hym weren itake. 9 He drou hymselve bi the cop, that al it lavede a blode; The Jewes out of Jurselem awenden he were wode. 10 Foret hym com the riche Jeu that heihte Pilatus: ‘Wolte sulle thi loverd, that hette Jesus?’ 11 ‘I nul sulle my loverd [for] nones cunnes eihte, Bote hit be for the thritti platen that he me bitaihte.’ 12 ‘Wolte sulle thi lord Crist for enes cunnes golde?’ ‘Nay, bote hit be for the platen that he habben wolde.’ 13 In him com ur lord Crist gon, as is postles seten at mete: ‘Wou sitte ye, postles, ant wi nule ye ete? 14 [‘Wou sitte ye, postles, ant wi nule ye ete?] Ic am ibouht ant isold today for oure mete.’ 15 Up stod him Judas: ‘Lord, am I that . . .? ‘I nas never othe stude ther me the evel spec.’ 16 Up him stod Peter, and spec wid al is mihte, . . . . . 17 ‘Thau Pilatus him come wid ten hundred cnihtes, Yet ic wolde, loverd, for thi love fihte.’ 18 ‘Still thou be, Peter, wel I the icnowe; Thou wolt fursake me thrien ar the coc him crowe.’ Version B (Appendix)[ TOP ] Trinity College MS. B, 14, 39, has been recovered, and Professor Skeat has had the kindness to furnish a copy of the ballad. Wright’s text proves to be in all essentials accurate; but, on account of the age and great interest of the poem, Professor Skeat’s copy is here reproduced. The ballad has no title in the MS. Hit wes upon a scerethorsday that vre louerd aros. ful milde were thee wordes he spec to iudas. iudas thou most to iurselem oure mete for to bugge. thritti platen of seluer thou bere up othi rugge. Thou comest fer ithe brode stret fer ithe brode strete. summe of thine tunesmen ter tou meist i mete. imette wid is soster the swikele wimon. iudas thou were wrthe me stende the wid ston. for the false prophete that tou bileuest upon. Be stille leue soster thin herte the to breke. wiste min louerd crist ful wel he wolde be wreke. Iudas go thou on the roc heie up on the ston. lei thin heued i my barm slep thou the anon. Sone so iudas of slepe was awake. thritti platen of seluer from hym weren itake. He drou hym selue bi the cop that al it lauede ablode. the iewes out of iurselem awenden he were wode. Foret hym com the riche ieu that heiste pilatus. wolte sulle thi louerd tat hette iesus. I nul sulle my louerd for nones cunnes eiste. bote hit be for the thritti platen. that he me bi taiste. Wolte stille thi lord crist for enes cunnes golde. Nay bote hit be for the platen. that he habben wolde. In him com ur lord gon as is postles seten at mete. Wou sitte ye postles ant wi nule ye ete. ic am iboust ant isold to day for oure mete. Vp stod him iudas lord am i that I nas neuer othe stude ther me the euel spec. Vp him stod peter ant spec wid al is miste. thau pilatus him come wid ten hundred cnistes. yet ic wolde louerd for thi loue fiste. Still thou be peter. wel i the i cnowe. thou wolt fur sake me trien. ar te coc him crowe. [ HOME ][ TOP ]