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.