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For everything seemed resting on his nod, As they could read in all eyes. Now to them, Who were accustomed, as a sort of god, To see the sultan, rich in many a gem, Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt How power could condescend to do without.

To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining belles of the fly require; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.

To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in.

Fly pride, says the peacock: mistress, that you know.

Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock--a stride and a stand; ruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning; bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say, 'There were wit in this head an 'twould out'; and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking.

Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while And like a peacock sweep along his tail; We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.

And there they placed a peacock in his pride, Before the damsel.