Read aloud by a trained rhetorician from the new grammar 
schools, the passage which Sutherland quotes (pp. 49­50) 
takes on the brash variety of a Louis Armstrong trumpet solo:

     Hero hoped, and therefore she dreamed (as all hope 
     is but a dream); her hope was where her heart was, and 
     her heart winding and turning with the wind, that might 
     wind her heart of gold to her, or else turn him from her. 
     Hope and fear both combatted in her, and both these are 
     wakeful, which made her at break of day (what an old 
     crone is the day, that is so long a breaking) to unloop her 
     luket or casement, to look whence the blasts came, or 
     what gait or pace the sea kept; when forthwith her eyes 
     bred her eye-sore, the first white whereon their 
     transpiercing arrows struck being the breathless corps of 
     Leander: with the sudden contemplation of this piteous