This sharp retort fell from an ashen crane:
"Through these dull wings, whose colour you decry,
I scream aloft, in starry heights I fly.
You, cock-like, flap your wings. The tail you spread
With all its gold, is never seen o'erhead."
Rather would I in threadbare coat aspire
Than live inglorious, tho' in rich attire.
Source: Davies: Fables of Babrius = Babrius 65.
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