No moans, no cries; just a dignified endurance.

From the western window of the shed chamber where he lay he could see the multitude of fowls below, in the yards where he had so lately reigned supreme.

Occasionally, with a heroic effort, he would get on his legs and gaze wistfully on the lively crowd so unmindful of his wretchedness, then sink back exhausted, reminding me of some grand old monarch, statesman, or warrior looking for the last time on the scenes of his former triumphs.

I should have named him Socrates.
At last he was carried to a cool resting place in the deep grass, covered with pink mosquito netting, and one kind friend after another fanned him and watched over his last moments.

After he was really dead, and Tom with tears rolling down his face carried him tenderly away, I woke from my ambitious dream and felt verily guilty of aviscide.
But for my vainglorious ambition Beauty would doubtless be alive and resplendent; his consort, modest hued and devoted, at his side, and my bank account would have a better showing.
There is a motto as follows, "Let him keep peacock to himself," derived in this way: When George III had partly recovered from one of his attacks, his ministers got him to read the king's speech, but he ended every sentence with the word "peacock." The minister who drilled him said that "peacock" was an excellent word for ending a sentence, only kings should not let subjects hear it, but should whisper it softly.
The result was a perfect success; the pause at the close of each sentence had such a fine elocutionary effect.
In future, when longing to indulge in some new display, yield to another temptation, let me whisper "peacock" and be saved..