with governing our understanding, which she has taken upon her the care of instructing; that, in the fury of the colic, she maintain the soul in a condition to know itself, and to follow its accustomed way, contending with, and enduring, not meanly truckling under pain; moved and heated, not subdued and conquered, in the contention; capable of discourse and other things, to a certain degree.  In such extreme accidents, ’tis cruelty to require so exact a composedness.  ’Tis no great matter that we make a wry face, if the mind plays its part well:  if the body find itself relieved by complaining let it complain:  if agitation ease it, let it tumble and toss at pleasure; if it seem to find the disease evaporate (as some physicians hold that it helps women in delivery) in making loud outcries, or if this do but divert its torments, let it roar as it will.  Let us not command this voice to sally, but stop it not.  Epicurus, not only forgives his sage for crying out in torments, but advises him to it: 

          “Pugiles etiam, quum feriunt, in jactandis caestibus
          ingemiscunt, quia profundenda voce omne corpus intenditur,
          venitque plaga vehementior.”

     ["Boxers also, when they strike, groan in the act, because with the
     strength of voice the whole body is carried, and the blow comes with
     the greater vehemence.”—­Cicero, Tusc.  Quaes., ii. 23.]

We have enough to do to deal with the disease, without troubling ourselves with these superfluous rules.

Which I say in excuse of those whom we ordinarily see impatient in the assaults of this malady; for as to what concerns myself, I have passed it over hitherto with a little better countenance, and contented myself with groaning without roaring out; not, nevertheless, that I put any great constraint upon myself to maintain this exterior decorum, for I make little account of such an advantage:  I allow herein as much as the pain requires; but either my pains are not so excessive, or I have more than ordinary patience.  I complain, I confess, and am a little impatient in a very sharp fit, but I do not arrive to such a degree of despair as he who with: 

               “Ejulatu, questu, gemitu, fremitibus
               Resonando, multum flebiles voces refert:” 

["Howling, roaring, groaning with a thousand noises, expressing his torment in a dismal voice.” (Or:) “Wailing, complaining, groaning, murmuring much avail lugubrious sounds.”—­Verses of Attius, in his Phaloctetes, quoted by Cicero, De Finib., ii. 29; Tusc.  Quaes., ii. 14.]

I try myself in the depth of my suffering, and have always found that I was in a capacity to speak, think, and give a rational answer as well as at any other time, but not so firmly, being troubled and interrupted by the pain.  When I am looked upon by my visitors to be in the greatest torment, and that they therefore forbear to trouble me, I often essay my own strength,