“O Lady Tatters! O Lady Tatters! We scorn the fellow who basely flatters, But we can’t help saying that nobody matters But you, fair lady, but you, but you! Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la, We know that it’s generally customary In cases like these to be shy and wary, For often enough in matrimony There’s plenty of gall mixed in with the honey, How true that is! how true! how true! Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la, But under existing circumstances Every fellow must take some chances, Refusing to bother concerning expenses And other deplorable consequences, Cheerfully scorning each friendly warning,-- How few regard it! how few! how few! Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la, O Lady Tatters! O Lady Tatters! We’ve duly considered these difficult matters, And now, without any reservation, We’re ready to enter the marriage relation! You’ve only to view our reliable faces And gaze on our truly superlative graces, To note that the suitors by whom you’re attended Come really remarkably well recommended,-- Buy it’s all in the point of view! How true! It’s all in the point of view! Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,--” “Silence, rogues!” I cried, out of all patience at their impudence, but my daughter burst out laughing. It was ever her way to be amused rather than annoyed. “Master Eyebrows!” shouted the first ballad singer. “Choose one of us for the tattered damsel! What will you take for her? Speak.” “You shall have the Shears!” shouted the second ballad singer. “The Shears of Sharpness!” shouted the third. “See, Eyebrows!” cried the first. “The Shears of Sharpness!” _The Blind Ballad Singer Displays the Shears of Sharpness_ He drew from under his gown a pair of tailor’s shears, and as he did so the crowd fell back as if in alarm. He stepped toward the city wall, and placed his hand on a flat iron bar, some two or three inches in width, supporting an awning over a booth; and applying his shears to it, he cut it through and through as if it had been paper. I gasped in amazement; never had I seen a pair of shears like those. “The Shears for the lady!” cried the blind man. “Come, Eyebrows, choose!” “Impudent rascal,” said I, “the lady is my daughter, and I foresee that a good scourging is awaiting you. Come, Amadore!” “But buy our ballads!” cried the second ballad singer. “Buy our ballads!” cried the others, and each of the three thrust toward me one of his papers. I took them, and paying over a few coppers, moved on toward the city gate. “Father!” said Amadore in my ear. “The boy is gone!” It was true. The boy had slipped away, and was gone. The idlers began to laugh again, and I drew my daughter after me into the city.