ECHO. Love alone!
EPIMETHEUS. Who would not love, if loving she might be Changed like Callisto to a star in heaven?
PANDORA. Ah, who would love, if loving she might be Like Semele consumed and burnt to ashes?
EPIMETHEUS. Whence knowest thou these stories?
PANDORA. Hermes taught me; He told me all the history of the Gods.
CHORUS OF REEDS. Evermore a sound shall be In the reeds of Arcady, Evermore a low lament Of unrest and discontent, As the story is retold Of the nymph so coy and cold, Who with frightened feet outran The pursuing steps of Pan.
EPIMETHEUS. The pipe of Pan out of these reeds is made, And when he plays upon it to the shepherds They pity him, so mournful is the sound. Be thou not coy and cold as Syrinx was.
PANDORA. Nor thou as Pan be rude and mannerless.
PROMETHEUS (without). Ho! Epimetheus!
EPIMETHEUS. 'T is my brother's voice; A sound unwelcome and inopportune As was the braying of Silenus' ass, Once heard in Cybele's garden.