Chapter I: Part I

It was the Ancient Milliner
Stood by his open door;
The tale he told was something like
A tale I'd heard before.

* * * * *

I called forthwith a Hansom, and
"Now, Cabman, drive!" I cried;
"For I must get this bandbox home
Before the eventide.

"The bride a-pacing up the aisle
Mad as a dog would be,
Without this sweet confection of
Silk and passementerie."

Westward the good cab flew. The horse
Was kick-some, wild, and gay;
He tossed his head from side to side
In an offensive way.

He tossed his head, he shook his mane,
And he was big and black;
He wore a little mackintosh
Upon his monstrous back.

I mused upon that mackintosh,
All mournfully mused I;
It was too small a thing to keep
So large a beastie dry.

And on we went up Oxford Street
With a short, uneasy motion;
What made the beast go sideways I
Have not the faintest notion
But we ran into an omnibus
With a short, uneasy motion.

All in a hot, improper way.
The rude 'bus-driver said,
That them what couldn't drive a horse
Should try a moke instead.

Never a word my cabman spoke--
No audible reply--
But, oh, a thousand scathing things
He thought; and so did I.

"What ails thee, Ancient Milliner?
What means thy ashen hue?
Why look'st thou so?"--I murmured, "Blow!"
And at my word _it blew_.