Satyre 2.
Prodigall Zodon.
Who knowes not Zodon; Zodon, what is he?
The true borne child of insatietie.
If true borne, when? if borne at all say where?
Where conscience beg'd in worst time of the yeare;
His name yong Prodigall, son to greedy gaine,
Let bloud by folly, in a contrary vaine.
For scraping Cron, seeing he needs must die,
Bequeathed all to Prodigallitie.
The will once prou'd, and he possest of all,
Who then so gallant as yong Prodigall?
Mounted aloft on flattering Fortunes wings,
Where like a Nightingale secure he sings;
Floating on Seas of scarse prosperitie,
In girt with pleasures sweete tranquillitie.
Sute vpon sute, satten too too base,
Veluet laid on with gold or siluer lace:
A meane man doth become, but yee must ride
In cloth of fyned gold, and by his side
