And so, letting himself tumble into a ditch, he cried:
“Pity, soldiers; my leg is broken, I cannot walk farther, let me get up into the women’s cart.”
But he knew that the jealous hoer-wyfel would never allow it.
The girls called to him from their cart:
“Now, come up, dear pilgrim, come. We will love you, caress you, feast you, heal you all in one day.”
“I know,” said he, “a woman’s hand is a heavenly balm for every wound.”
But the jealous hoer-wyfel, speaking to Messire de Lamotte:
“Messire,” said he, “I believe that this pilgrim is fooling us with his broken leg, to get into the cart of the women. Give orders to leave him in the road.”
“That is my will,” said Messire de Lamotte.
And Ulenspiegel was left in the ditch.