HARLOT: I don’t know what to believe anymore… It seems my work doesn’t suit me. All I have was brought by the life: a series of judgments. Sometimes it's as if there's just dirt, like a deadly poison... It became to us, spread and contaminates us… I really am outraged! They are miserable soldes for a work of giving own body to the desire of any man and still receiving diseases! They said I’m ungrateful sometimes. They said the guilty of pestilences is ours. They said that fornication is much sought by the rich and they say it is necessary, because many expect to satiate the voluptuousness. I wouldn't mind that. This body is my property, each one chooses what good to do of it. There are homes with hungry children, there is a need to feed them. The subjects of the king who don't mind getting drunk and have contact with other meats full of lust. They say that devil lives in the brothels, as if he didn't visit it every night. Here is a mere house of women who are to serve those who feel seduced by our bodies. My customers pay some soldes and I do not refuse to serve pleasure to them. I am not surprised to learn that many condemn this practice, but we make it necessary for our survival. Vassalage does not nourish our bodies, especially when there are children to support. I see many men in the village in despair at the laws of affection that find little moments of debauchery instead of indulging them in chastity of the Church. I don’t know what to consider about our faiths. Will they forgive us? They said a very evil place expects for our souls after our death, but I honestly believe that this place is already here, in this world full of wars and bad people. Sometimes there are perjured customers, those who betray and have lovers. Unhappy wretches... The betrayal in a marriage, which today is almost an oath of allegiance, has brought to the surface a very forceful relic: our bread through our work. [...] Poor fornicators... Whoever would tell you, there are those who believe in purity while their homes remain dirty as a manhole of rats and cockroaches. All filthy, dirty. Because the society accepts our practice very well. We do not have talents like the fools of kings. We do not have wealth like the queen. We have no comrades like the troubadours to sing every night and celebrate. It is a service like any other, you get used to it, because many come to enjoy, even because we sell our bodies.

A little modesty, there is a confession on my lips.

I don’t care much with the naked witches who surrend themselves to a sea of guilty

Your witchcraft will lead them to damnation!

I hope not to be confused with the Lucifer’s ladies, who devote their time to fornication with the devil...

But not me! The meat is made to satisfy the man.

The body isn’t other instrument but pleasure!

They still isolate us from the rest of the kingdom because they think the plague is spread with the contagion of disease!

Crazy these, lost!

I don’t serve because I like it, but to have something to feed me!

My kids are already hungry, I want food on the table and a house to sleep in.

Lights of hope go out for the next few days,

I see those sayings whose burning women, but pretending to be saints...

Who are they to judge me?

Blessed is the soul who accepts me, who doesn’t judge me, because there is certain robes do not cover wolves pretending to be lambs!

I want is parish, my sweet agony!

Come, come, you can come in!