A Receipt to Cure the Vapors

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I
Why will Delia thus retire,
 And idly languish life away?
While the sighing crowd admire,
 ’Tis too soon for hartshorn tea:

 II 
All those dismal looks and fretting
 Cannot Damon’s life restore;
Long ago the worms have eat him,
 You can never see him more.

 III
Once again consult your toilette,
 In the glass your face review:
So much weeping soon will spoil it,
 And no spring your charms renew.

 IV
I, like you, was born a woman,
 Well I know what vapors mean:
The disease, alas! is common;
 Single, we have all the spleen.

 V
All the morals that they tell us,
 Never cured the sorrow yet:
Chuse, among the pretty fellows,
 One of honor, youth, and wit.

 VI
Prithee hear him every morning
 At least an hour or two;
Once again at night returning—
 I believe the dose will do.

© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu