and broken, my sword which I had had in my hand, above ten paces beyond that, and my belt broken all to pieces, without motion or sense any more than a stock.  ’Twas the only swoon I was ever in till that hour in my life.  Those who were with me, after having used all the means they could to bring me to myself, concluding me dead, took me up in their arms, and carried me with very much difficulty home to my house, which was about half a French league from thence.  On the way, having been for more than two hours given over for a dead man, I began to move and to fetch my breath; for so great abundance of blood was fallen into my stomach, that nature had need to rouse her forces to discharge it.  They then raised me upon my feet, where I threw off a whole bucket of clots of blood, as this I did also several times by the way.  This gave me so much ease, that I began to recover a little life, but so leisurely and by so small advances, that my first sentiments were much nearer the approaches of death than life: 

               “Perche, dubbiosa ancor del suo ritorno,
               Non s’assicura attonita la mente.”

    ["For the soul, doubtful as to its return, could not compose itself”
     —­Tasso, Gierus.  Lib., xii. 74.]

The remembrance of this accident, which is very well imprinted in my memory, so naturally representing to me the image and idea of death, has in some sort reconciled me to that untoward adventure.  When I first began to open my eyes, it was with so perplexed, so weak and dead a sight, that I could yet distinguish nothing but only discern the light: 

               “Come quel ch’or apre, or’chiude
               Gli occhi, mezzo tra’l sonno e l’esser desto.”

     ["As a man that now opens, now shuts his eyes, between sleep
     and waking.”—­Tasso, Gierus.  Lib., viii., 26.]

As to the functions of the soul, they advanced with the same pace and measure with those of the body.  I saw myself all bloody, my doublet being stained all over with the blood I had vomited.  The first thought that came into my mind was that I had a harquebuss shot in my head, and indeed, at the time there were a great many fired round about us.  Methought my life but just hung upon my, lips:  and I shut my eyes, to help, methought, to thrust it out, and took a pleasure in languishing and letting myself go.  It was an imagination that only superficially floated upon my soul, as tender and weak as all the rest, but really, not only exempt from anything displeasing, but mixed with that sweetness that people feel when they glide into a slumber.

I believe it is the very same condition those people are in, whom we see swoon with weakness in the agony of death we pity them without cause, supposing them agitated with grievous dolours, or that their souls suffer under painful thoughts.  It has ever been my belief, contrary to the opinion of many, and particularly of La Boetie, that those whom we see so subdued and stupefied at the approaches of their end, or oppressed with the length of the disease, or by accident of an apoplexy or falling sickness,