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.