But Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his own share of curiosity to know what was inside.  Perceiving that Pandora was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his playfellow should not be the only wise person in the cottage.  And if there were anything pretty or valuable in the box, he meant to take half of it to himself.  Thus, after all his sage speeches to Pandora about restraining her curiosity, Epimetheus turned out to be quite as foolish, and nearly as much in fault as she.  So, whenever we blame Pandora for what happened, we must not forget to shake our heads at Epimetheus likewise.

As Pandora raised the lid, the cottage grew very dark and dismal; for the black cloud had now swept quite over the sun, and seemed to have buried it alive.  There had for a little while past been a low growling and muttering, which all at once broke into a heavy peal of thunder.  But Pandora, heeding nothing of all this, lifted the lid nearly upright, and looked inside.  It seemed as if a sudden swarm of winged creatures brushed past her, taking flight out of the box, while, at the same instant, she heard the voice of Epimetheus, with a lamentable tone, as if he were in pain.

“Oh, I am stung!” cried he.  “I am stung!  Naughty Pandora! why have you opened this wicked box?”

Pandora let fall the lid, and, starting up, looked about her, to see what had befallen Epimetheus.  The thunder cloud had so darkened the room that she could not very clearly discern what was in it.  But she heard a disagreeable buzzing, as if a great many huge flies, or gigantic mosquitoes, or those insects which we call dor bugs, and pinching dogs, were darting about.  And, as her eyes grew more accustomed to the imperfect light, she saw a crowd of ugly little shapes, with bats’ wings, looking abominably spiteful, and armed with terribly long stings in their tails.  It was one of these that had stung Epimetheus.  Nor was it a great while before Pandora herself began to scream, in no less pain and affright than her playfellow, and making a vast deal more hubbub about it.  An odious little monster had settled on her forehead, and would have stung her I know not how deeply, if Epimetheus had not run and brushed it away.

Now, if you wish to know what these ugly things might be, which had made their escape out of the box, I must tell you that they were the whole family of earthly Troubles.  There were evil Passions; there were a great many species of Cares; there were more than a hundred and fifty Sorrows; there were Diseases, in a vast number of miserable and painful shapes; there were more kinds of Naughtiness than it would be of any use to talk about.  In short, everything that has since afflicted the souls and bodies of mankind had been shut up in the mysterious box, and given to Epimetheus and Pandora to be kept safely, in order that the happy children of the world might never be molested by them.  Had they been faithful to their trust, all would have gone well.  No grown person would ever have been sad, nor any child have had cause to shed a single tear, from that hour until this moment.