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Updated: June 1, 2025
They cry to the Lord, because they think they cannot run fast enough, "Draw me and I sail run after Thee:" they are flying together, as the dowes does to the holes of the rocks before a tempest come.
In point of language, eloquence, and ease, She equals the celebrated Dowes now-a-days, A splendid poetess how sweet her verse, That which, without a blush, Downes might rehearse; Her throbbing breast the home of virtue rare, Her bosom, warm, loving and sincere, A mild fair one, the muses only care, Of learning, sense, true wit, and talents rare; Endless her fame, on golden wings she'd fly, Loud as the trumpet of the rolling sky.
Henry Dowes was the tutor's name, beyond which fact I know nothing of him. His letter is as follows:
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