Lacena's Riddle

The man whose method hangeth by the moon,
And rules his diet by geometry;
Whose restless mind rips up his mother's breast,
To part her bowels for his family;
And fetcheth Pluto's glee in from the grass
By careless cutting of a goddess gifts;
That throws his gotten labour to the earth,
As trusting to content for others' shifts;
'Tis he, good sir, that Saturn best did please
When golden world set worldlings all at ease;
His name is Person, and his progeny,
Now tell me, of what ancient pedigree.