But know that the scissors move only when bidden in rhyme.

Farewell." The Prince spent all the following time until midnight, trying to think of a suitable verse to say to the scissors.

The art of rhyming had been neglected in his early education, and it was not until the first cock-crowing began that he succeeded in making this one: "Giant scissors, serve me well, And save me from the Witch's spell!" As he uttered the words the scissors leaped out of his hand, and began to cut through the wooden shutters as easily as through a cheese.

In a very short time the Prince had crawled through the opening.

There he stood, outside the dungeon, but it was a dark night and he knew not which way to turn.
He could hear Frog-eye Fearsome snoring like a tempest up in the watch-tower, and the old Witch was talking in her sleep in seven languages.