There was a Gourd planted close by a large well-spread Pine: The Season was kindly, and the Gourd shot itself upon in a short time, climbing by the Boughs, and twining about 'em, till it topp'd and cover'd the Tree itself. The Leaves were large, and the Flowers and the Fruit fair; insomuch, that the Gourd had the Confidence to value itself above the Pine, upon the Comparison. Why, says the Gourd, you have been more Years a growing to this Stature, than I have been Days. Well, says the Pine again, but after so many Winters and Summers as I have endur'd, after so many Blasting Colds, and Parching Heats you see me the very same thing still that I was so long ago. But when you come to the Proof once, the first Blight or Frost shall most infallibly bring down that Stomach of yours, and strip ye of all your Glory.
Nothing so Insoldent and Intolerable as a Proud Upstart that's rais'd from a Hunghill; he forgets both his Master and his Maker.