Ah, whither shall I fly

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.