The hawk cannot boast of a plumage so gay,
But piercing and clear is her eye;
And while you are strutting about all the day,
She gallantly soars in the sky.
The dove may be clad in a plainer attire,
But she is not so selfish and cold;
And her love and affection more pleasure inspire
Than all your fine purple and gold.
So you see, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train;