Why, fair maid, in every feature,
Are such signs of fear exprest?
Can a wandering, wretched creature,
With such terror fill thy breast?
Do my frenzied looks alarm thee?
Trust me sweet, thy fears are vain,
Not for kingdoms would I harm thee,
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane.
Dost thou weep to see my anguish?
Mark me, and avoid my woe,
When men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false—I found them so,
For I loved—ah! so sincerely,
None could ever love again,
But the youth I loved so dearly,
Stole the wits of Crazy Jane.
Fondly my young heart received him,
Which was doomed to love but one:
He sighed—he vowed—and I believed him,
He was false and I am undone.
From that hour has reason never,
Held her empire over my brain:
Henry fled—with him forever,
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.
Now forlorn and broken-hearted,
And with frenzied thought beset,
On that spot where last we parted,
On that spot where first we met,
Still I sing my lovelorn ditty,
Still I slowly pace the plain,
While each passerby, in pity,
Cries, God help thee, Crazy Jane.