A Receipt to Cure the Vapors

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.