Ah, whither shall I fly,
A poor unhappy maid?
To hopeless love and misery,
By my own heart betrayed.

'Twas fancy gave Alexis charms,
E're I beheld his face;
Kind fancy then could fold our arms
And form a soft embrace.

Not by Alexis' eyes undone,
Or by his charming faithless tongue,
or any practised art;
Such real ills may hope a cure,
But the sad pains which I endure,
proceed from fancied smart.

But since I've seen the real swain,
And tried to fancy him again
I'm by my fancy taught:
Tho' 'tis a bliss no tongue can tell
To have Alexis, yet 'tis hell,
To have him but in thought.