Once in a faraway land a court jester did sing,

"Today, sire, a beautiful daughter is given to you

Whose beauty will drive all the kings and the princes to queue."

"Who can prognosticate pulchritude?" queried the king.

"A soothsayer, sire, could reside in your own palace walls

Or else in the piquant periphery’s cities and towns.

Send forth, reconnoiter, o’erlook neither trousers nor gowns.

Let all who claim prescience assemble in these royal halls."

"Nonsense, court jester, you really are naught but a fool.

Blatant officiousness many a matron brings hence,

Rapaciousness reprobate gentlemen coveting pence.

Plethoric reports of their lies would endanger my cool."

"To such perspicacity, sire, any fool would but add,