A PEACOCK spreading its gorgeous tail mocked a Crane that passed
by, ridiculing the ashen hue of its plumage and saying, 'I am
robed, like a king, in gold and purple and all the colors of the
rainbow; while you have not a bit of color on your wings.'
'True,' replied the Crane; 'but I soar to the heights of heaven
and lift up my voice to the stars, while you walk below, like a
cock, among the birds of the dunghill.'
Fine feathers don't make fine birds.