110ra] 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 110rb] 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 110va]    85 90 95 100 105 110 115

¶ Puis que de fabler ay comencé, Ja n’y ert, pur moun travail, lessé. De Trois Dames comenceroy — Assez brievement le counteroy. Que al Mount-Seint-Michel aloient En pelrynage come vowé avoyent. Ne voderount plus demorer De lur promesse aquiter, E de ce, fesoient qe senees.    Ja avoient alé deus jornees E l’endemein fust le tierce, Quant vint a l’houre de tierce La une garda en un senter Si trova un vit, gros e plener, Envolupé en un drapel. N’i out descovert qe le musel. La dame le prist meyntenaunt E de la trovure fust joyaunt, Quar ele savoit quei ce estoit. E cele que aprés aloit Dit que ele avereit part.    “Certes,” fet ele, “vous le averez tart. Ja part de ce ne averez!”    “Coment deble estes! Vous devez! Je dis al trovour, demy myen! E si je ne le ey, ce n’est mie bien! Dreit est qe je part eye, Quar je su vostre compaigne verreie. Vous savez bien, si Dieu m’enjoie, Qe nous sumes en ceste voie Compaignes e bones amyes.”    “Yl ne me chaut voir qe tu dies — Ja n’averez part ne prow!”    L’autre ne le tient pas a gyw, Mes jure soun chief qe si avera Quaunqe juggé ly serra.    “Par foi,” fet l’autre, “Il me plest. Dite moi donqe qy ce est Qy dorra le jugement, E je le grant bonement.”    “Devant nous est une mesone de noneynz,      Mout seinte dames e chapeleynz Que Dieu servent nuit e jour. La abbesse, pur nul amour, Ne lerra juger verité.”    “E je le grant, de par Dé.”    Tant ount erree qe eles sunt venues — Ce m’est avis — al chief des rywes, La ou l’abbesse manoit. Tant ount alé, tort e droit, Qe en l’abbeye sunt entreez, E meyntenant ount demaundez Noveles de la abbesse.    E um lur dit, “Ele oyt sa messe. Si vous volez a ly parler, Yl vous covient demorer.”    Eles dient que si frount. Atant assises se sount En le parlour sur un desgree. Mes il ne urent qe poi estee Quant venir virent la abbesse — Ensemble ov ly, la prioresse, D’autre part, la celerere.    E cele qe estoit premere Se leve e dit meyntenaunt: “Dame, bien seiez vous viegnaunt! Veiez si une moie compaigne Qe doner ma part ne me deygne De une chose qe ele ad trové. Pur ce, qe ele ne m’en a donee Ma part, come fere deveroit.” E si counte tot le droit Come la chose fust trovee.    E sur ly est le jugement tornee, E dit la abbesse meyntenaunt: “Seit la chose mys avaunt, E nous le droit jugeroms E vos dreytures a vous rendroms.”    “Par foi,” fet l’autre, “je le graunt. Compaygne, metez le vyt avaunt. L’abbesse dirra verité.”    E cele qe le vit out trovee Le treyst erroument de son seyn E le mist devant un noneyn, Qe mout le garda de bon oyl.    De l’abbesse, counter voil Qe molt le regarda volenters. Granz suspirs fist, longz e enters, Pus dit aprés, “Oiez bel plet: Quei vueillent il, qe ore seit fet. Le jugement se prent pur nous. C’est, de nostre porte, le verrous Qe l’autre jour fust adyrrez. Je comaund qu’il soit bien gardez Come ce qu’est nostre chose demeyne. Alez,” fet ele, “dame Eleyne, Qe estes pruz e bien legere, Je comaund qu’il soit mis arere La dount il fust ostez e pris.”    E ma dame Eleyne ad pris Le vit, qe fust long e grant, E sachez qe ele meyntenaunt Le prist e gitta en sa maunche, Que molt estoit delgé e blaunche.    Les dames qe la chose troverent, Quant le jugement entenderent, Molt sunt dolent e irassuz Qe la chose est issi perduz.    E molt marris s’en partoient E l’abbesse molt maldisoient, E distrent qe jamés n’assenterount Ne jugement demaunderount De tiele chose aprester, Ne en autre manere juger. Mes cele qe la trovera A tous jours la tendra Come relyke molt desirree E de totes dames honoree.

¶ Since I’ve begun telling idle tales, Surely, on account of my effort, I won’t quit. I’ll begin with Three Ladies — I’ll recount it quite briefly. They were going to Mont-Saint-Michel On a pilgrimage as they had vowed. They didn’t want to delay any longer In keeping their promise, And concerning this, they were acting sensibly.    They had already traveled two days And the next day was the third, When it happened at the hour of terce That one looked down on a path And found a prick, thick and swollen, Wrapped in a piece of cloth. Only the tip was uncovered. The lady picked it up at once And was delighted by her find, For she knew what it was. And the one who walked behind her Said that she would have a part.    “Indeed,” she says, “you’ll have it later. You’ll never have part of this one!”    “You’re such a devil! You have to! I say to the finder, it’s half mine! And if I don’t have it, that’s not fair at all! It’s only fair that I have a part, For I’m your true companion. You well know, God bring me joy, That we’re on this journey As companions and good friends.”    “I really don’t care what you say — You’ll never have any part at all!”    The other doesn’t think it a game, But swears on her head that she’ll have Whatever will be judged hers.    “By my faith,” says the other, “that pleases me. Tell me then who it is Who ought to give judgment, And I grant it graciously.”    “In front of us is a house of nuns, Very holy ladies and chaplains Who serve God night and day. The abbess, having no bias, Will never fail to judge truth.”    “I agree to it, on God’s part.”    They’ve traveled so far that they’ve arrived — It’s my opinion — at the end of the road, There where the abbess lived. They’ve gone so far, wrong and right, That they’ve entered the abbey, And now they’ve asked for Tidings of the abbess.    And one tells them, “She’s hearing Mass. If you wish to speak with her, It’s necessary that you wait.”    They say that they’ll do so, And so they’re seated On a bench in the parlor. But they’ve been there only a little while When they saw the abbess coming — Together with her, the prioress, And beside her, the cellaress.    And the one who was in front Gets up and says at once: “Lady, how welcome is your arrival! See here one of my companions Who doesn’t deign to give me my part Of a thing she’s found. As a result, she hasn’t given to me My part, as she should do.” And here she tells exactly How the thing was found.    Thus the judgment is turned over to her, And the abbess says at once: “Let the thing be displayed, And we’ll judge the rightful owner And render to you your rights.”    “By my faith,” says the other, “I agree to it. Companion, display the prick. The abbess will speak the truth.”    And the one who had found the prick Drew it promptly from her breast And put it in front of a nun, Who gazed at it with much favor.    Regarding the abbess, I wish to report That she looked at it very gladly. She heaves great sighs, long and full, Then says next, “Hear a just decision, What they demand, it shall now be done. The judgment falls to us. It is, of our door, the bolt Which was lost the other day. I order that it be well guarded As that which is our property. Go,” she says, “Lady Helen, You who are prudent and gentle, I command that it be put back There where it was lifted off and taken.”    And my Lady Helen has taken The prick, which was long and huge, And know that she quickly Took it and thrust it into her sleeve, Which was slender and white.    The ladies who found the thing, When they heard the judgment, Are very upset and angry That the thing is here lost.    Thus they departed very unhappy And bitterly cursed the abbess, And said that they’d never again Consent to or demand a judgment To share such a thing, Or in any way express an opinion. But whoever shall find it Shall always hold onto it As a relic much desired And honored by all women.

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