Poem by Mary Wortley Montagu

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.

1. Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana, or the Drawing-Room
2. An Elegy on Mrs. Thompson
3. To a Friend on His Travels
4. Verses Addressed to the Imitator...
5. Friday, the Toilette

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