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.