The poem
One night i'th' year, my dearest Beauties, come, And bring those dew-drink-offerings to my tomb; When thence ye see my reverend ghost to rise, And there to lick th' effused sacrifice, Though paleness be the livery that I wear, Look ye not wan or colourless for fear. Trust me, I will not hurt ye, or once show The least grim look, or cast a frown on you; Nor shall the tapers, when I'm there, burn blue. This I may do, perhaps, as I glide by,-- Cast on my girls a glance, and loving eye; Or fold mine arms, and sigh, because I've lost The world so soon, and in it, you the most: --Than these, no fears more on your fancies fall, Though then I smile, and speak no words at all.