The Golden Aphroditis A pleasant discourse, penned by John Grange ... Whereunto be annexed by the same Authour asvvell certayne Metres upon sundry poyntes, as also divers Pamphlets in prose, which he entituleth His Garden: pleasant to the eare, and delightful to the Reader, if he abuse not the scente of the floures |
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The paynting of a Curtizan.
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 | The Golden Aphroditis |  |
The paynting of a Curtizan.
It is a worlde to see, eache feate displaying wise,Of Venus Nimphes, of Curtizans, whom folly doth disguise.
Yea, how, and by what meanes, they doe allure the youth,
To spend vpon thē all they haue, whose beauty whettes their tooth.
Who listeth to beholde, and marke my painting penne,
Shall see their garish trickes set downe, wherby they allure the mē.
First with their lawnes, and calles of golde beset with spangs,
With died, and frizeled perewigs, with hartes fro thence that hāgs,
With veluet cappes, and plumes, they doe adorne their heddes,
With red & white they painte their face, to tice thē to there beddes.
There partlets set with spangs, come close vnto their chinne,
There gorgets fairely wrought without, inclose blacke necks wtin.
And from their eare there hangs, a pearle and siluer ring,
As for a bell, the sounde whereof, such like to hir doth bring.
About hir necke likewise, there hangeth many a chayne,
Yea, many a costly iem they weare, thats giuē thē of their trayne.
Their gownes likewise which are so side, do sweepe alōg ye streate.
Their pompes most oft are white, their pantables are blacke,
Their wosted hose are purple blew, thus nothing do they lacke.
Their gloues are all befumde, with pure and perfect smell,
Yea, all their clothes which smels of muske, loe here she goes they tel.
Their smockes are all bewrought, about the necke & hande,
And (to be short) I tell you playne, all things in order stande.
They onely walke the streates, to see and to be seene,
Their wāton eyes caste here & there, will tell you what they bene.
But if hyr flanting lookes, hath trayned any one,
Unto the mewe wherein she keepes, along as she hath gone,
They shalbe sure to finde, all kinde of musicke there,
And she hir selfe (at his request) to play she will not spare.
Whiche doth inflame his harte, with flashing sparkes of heate,
To trie with sugred wordes, if so, his harte would cease to beate.
Then she to passe the time, at cardes will seeke to play,
Or else to tables will they goe, to driue the time away.
Then will they vaunt, and graunt, and for affinitie,
At cardes they will vye, and reuye, each their virginitie.
At Irishe game she will, contrary to the game,
At bearing beare more than she should, by proofe I know the same.
If that she taken be, with this, that byr foule play,
Then makes she straight thereof a ieste (I saw it not) to say
But with this ouersight, she doth prouoke the man,
To thinke the worste and trie the best, by all the meanes he can.
Then must she haue such cheare, as may be got for quoyne,
That by the foode of dayntie dishe, hir woes he might purloyne.
To spende and make no spare, he must himselfe incline,
No quoyne, good cheare, aray, nor gemmes, for cost he may define.
For, giue me, and fetch me, this is their dayly song,
But yet with this worde Adfer she driues him straight along.
This worde for to fulfill, he settes on sale his lande,
And nought he seeth hir wante, but buyth it out of hande.
His presence doth deserue, remembraunce for to haue,
And if she grauntes him grace, to mitigate his woes,
His handketcher she will bewet, with water of a rose.
And then such wanton toyes, she wilbe sure to finde,
That he perswades himselfe herewith, to him she is full kinde.
Who would requyre more? it full requites his coste.
And he likewise (as proude thereof) will make thereof his boste.
Yea, yea, she treades so nice, she would not wafers breake,
And maulte horse like she beares hir mayne, ye ayre hir armes doth streake.
Thus as a floting fishe, she glides along the streete,
As laūcing ships she cuts ye seas, hir plumes the sayles doth greete.
But if by candle light, she chaunce hir selfe to showe,
Hir paynted forme so glistreth, as the starres appearde arowe.
Such cousining trickes they haue, each man for to deceaue,
That while they credite giue therto, his wordes their wits bereaue.
Wherfore let not thine eye, reduce thy wanton woe,
Nor giue no credite to their wordes, whiche honie like doe flowe.
Light wonne, light lost againe, be sure them thus to finde,
For lightly comen, so lightly gone, this is a harlots kinde.
Beleue a harlots wordes, and weaue a webbe of woe:
No credite therefore giue thereto, beleue it is not so.
She will not sticke to sweare she hath not knowen a man,
And thou alone hir maydenhed, by filed phrase haste wan.
And that no man aliue, could euer gayne his will,
When many an one, yea, evry day, of hir hath had their fill,
No man hath toucht hir skinne, excepting hande and face,
Thus will they lie with euery breath, it is their wonted grace.
Take heede therefore betime, least thou too late repent.
And curse the time that ere you knewe, thereby what folly mente.
Beleeue, my wordes are true, by proofe thou shalt them finde,
Adewe at laste, I wishe thee well, take heede of womenkinde.
The Authours Poesie.
Ne femina, ne tela, non piglia alla candela. | The Golden Aphroditis | |