thoughts,
The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,
Be my so used a guest as not an hour
In the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night,
The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,
And danger, which I fear’d, is at Antioch,
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here:
Yet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits,
Nor yet the other’s distance comfort me.
Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,
That have their first conception by misdread,
Have after-nourishment and life by care;
And what was first but fear what might be done,
Grows elder now and cares it be not done.
And so with me: the great Antiochus,
’Gainst whom I am too little to contend,
Since he’s so great can make his will his act,
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;
Nor boots it me to say I honour him.
If he suspect I may dishonour him:
And what may make him blush in being known,
He’ll stop the course by which it might be known;
With hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land,
And with the ostent of war will look so huge,
Amazement shall drive courage from the state;
Our men be vanquish’d ere they do resist,
And subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence:
Which care of them, not pity of myself,
Who am no more but as the tops of trees,
Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them,
Makes both my body pine and soul to languish,
And punish that before that he would punish.
Can gloomy melancholy ever stop being my companion, not for a single hour in the day's bright walking or peaceful night — can the grave where grief should sleep ever quiet me? Here at home, pleasures court my eyes, but I refuse them. And the danger I fled — that's in Antioch, far away, with arms too short to reach me here. Yet neither the pleasures around me can lift my spirits, nor the distance from danger comfort me. Here's what I understand now: the passions born of fear, once conceived, are fed and strengthened by anxiety. What begins as a fear of what might happen grows old and becomes certainty of what will happen. And so with me: the great Antiochus — I am too small to fight him — and because he's great enough to make his wishes become actions, he'll think I'm speaking even if I swear silence. It does me no good to say I honor him if he suspects I might dishonor him. And what might shame him if it were known, he'll stop from becoming known by any means — he'll fill the land with armies and make war my pretense, and my innocent people will suffer punishment for my escape. The thought of what will happen to them — not pity for myself, who am like a tree's crown defending the roots below — makes my body waste away and my soul grow sick. I punish myself before he can punish me.
I can't stop feeling terrible. At home, everything's beautiful and I'm surrounded by comfort, but I can't enjoy any of it. And the guy who wants to kill me is far away — he can't reach me from here. But nothing helps. I'm learning something: fear works like this. You start scared of something that might happen. Then worry keeps it alive in your mind. Then what started as 'maybe this could happen' becomes 'he's definitely going to do this.' And Antiochus is so powerful that whatever he wants, he'll do. Even if I promise to keep quiet, he won't believe me. He'll assume I'll tell everyone what he did. So to stop that, he'll send an army. He'll make up reasons to attack Tyre. And all my innocent people will suffer because of me. I'm thinking about them suffering, and it's killing me. I'm basically punishing myself before he gets the chance.
fear eats itself. it grows. what if becomes he will. he'll attack. everyone dies. because of me. i'm dying first.
The First Lord here represents courtly flattery at its worst — smooth reassurances designed to please rather than inform. Watch for how these lord-voices always say the comfortable thing, contrasted with Helicanus who never does.
Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!
May joy and all comfort rest in your noble heart!
I hope you feel better soon, your majesty.
things will be okay.
And keep your mind, till you return to us,
Peaceful and comfortable!
And may your mind stay peaceful and comfortable until you return to us.
Yeah, stay strong. We'll be here.
stay cool. we got this.
Helicanus speaks with the precise, slightly formal authority of a man who has earned the right to say difficult things. He doesn't soften his assessments — he leads with the uncomfortable truth and lets the logic carry it. Watch for how quickly he concedes once he knows Pericles is listening.
Peace, peace, and give experience tongue.
They do abuse the king that flatter him:
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;
The thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark,
To which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing:
Whereas reproof, obedient and in order,
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.
When Signior Sooth here does proclaim peace,
He flatters you, makes war upon your life.
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;
I cannot be much lower than my knees.
Wait. Let experience speak. These men abuse you by flattering you. Flattery is a bellows that blows up sin. The thing being flattered is just a spark, but flattery feeds it and makes it burn brighter. Real counsel — honest counsel that bows to order — is what fits kings, because kings are men and men make mistakes. When someone like one of these lords says 'all is well,' he's flattering you and waging war on your life. Prince, pardon me — or strike me if you wish. I cannot kneel lower than I already am.
Hold on. Your lords are lying to you — and it's killing you. Flattery is like a bellows on a fire. You take something small and bad, and flattery makes it burn out of control. What kings actually need is truth-telling that respects the order of things — because kings are human and they fail. These men saying 'everything's fine' — they're lying to you, and it's destroying you. I'm risking my life saying this. Execute me if you want. I can't get any lower than this.
they're lying. flattery burns. truth kills liars. kill me for saying what's real.
All leave us else, but let your cares o’erlook
What shipping and what lading’s in our haven,
And then return to us.
Everyone else, leave us. But first, review all the ships and cargo in our harbor, then return to me.
Everyone out. Check the ships and supplies, then come back.
go. inventory. come back.
The contrast between the flattering lords and Helicanus is the scene's structural engine. The lords offer 'peace and comfort' — words designed to please rather than help. Helicanus offers truth at personal risk. This distinction — between the counsellor who tells you what you want to hear and the one who tells you what you need to hear — is a major preoccupation in Shakespeare's political plays. Compare Cordelia refusing to flatter Lear, Kent refusing to flatter Goneril, or the honest officers in Othello. What's unusual here is that Pericles immediately accepts the correction. He doesn't rage at Helicanus for long; he listens. That receptivity to criticism is established as a core of Pericles's character, even though we'll later see him fail in other ways. The scene is short but it's the play's thesis on leadership.
An angry brow, dread lord.
An angry expression, my lord.
You look furious, sir.
you're mad.
If there be such a dart in princes’ frowns,
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?
If a prince's frown can wound like a dart, how dare you speak something that makes me angry?
If a king's anger can kill, how'd you get the nerve to challenge me?
i could kill you. you made me mad. why are you alive?
How dares the plants look up to heaven, from whence
They have their nourishment?
How do plants look up at the heavens from which they draw their nourishment?
Plants have to look up at the sky where they get their food. That's what I did.
i had to look up. where my food comes from. where you come from.
Thou know’st I have power
To take thy life from thee.
HELICANUS. [_Kneeling._]
I have ground the axe myself;
Do but you strike the blow.
You know I have power to take your life. [Helicanus kneels.] I've sharpened the axe myself; you need only strike the blow.
You know I could have you killed. [Helicanus kneels.] I've already prepared it. Just do it.
PERICLES: i have the power. HELICANUS: i'm ready. just kill me.
Rise, prithee, rise.
Sit down: thou art no flatterer:
I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!
Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,
Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,
What wouldst thou have me do?
Rise, I beg you. Sit down. You're no flatterer. I thank you for it, and heaven forbid that kings should hide their faults from their own ears. You're the counsellor and servant a prince needs — the one who makes a prince the servant to his own wisdom. What would you have me do?
Get up. Sit. You're not trying to make me feel good — you're telling the truth. That's what I needed. I hope kings always hear their mistakes instead of hiding them. You're exactly what a prince should have — someone smart enough to make the prince listen to wisdom. What should I do?
you weren't flattering. you were honest. thank you. what do i do?
Pericles compares himself to the tops of trees that fence and protect the roots below — a beautiful and melancholy image of what it means to be a prince. The crown (the treetop) doesn't exist for its own glory; it exists to protect what grows beneath it. This image of leadership as protective rather than self-aggrandizing runs through the entire play. Pericles will spend years wandering, apparently without purpose, but each major decision he makes is driven by the desire to protect someone else: first his people from Antiochus, then Marina left in Tarsus. The tree image will invert later when the tree of his family seems to have been cut down entirely — and then, impossibly, blooms again.
To bear with patience
Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.
Bear patiently the griefs you're laying upon yourself.
Stop making it worse for yourself. Be patient.
you're punishing yourself. stop.
Thou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus,
That ministers a potion unto me
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.
Attend me, then: I went to Antioch,
Where, as thou know’st, against the face of death,
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,
From whence an issue I might propagate,
Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;
The rest—hark in thine ear—as black as incest,
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father
Seem’d not to strike, but smooth: but thou know’st this,
’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss.
Which fear so grew in me I hither fled,
Under the covering of a careful night,
Who seem’d my good protector; and, being here,
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed.
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years:
And should he doubt, as no doubt he doth,
That I should open to the listening air
How many worthy princes’ bloods were shed,
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,
To lop that doubt, he’ll fill this land with arms,
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him;
When all, for mine, if I may call offence,
Must feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence:
Which love to all, of which thyself art one,
Who now reprovest me for it,—
You speak like a physician, Helicanus, offering me a medicine you'd tremble to take yourself. Listen: I went to Antioch, where — as you know — I risked my life to win a beautiful wife, someone to bear children with, which brings joy to princes and their people. Her face was beyond description. But the rest... [lowers voice] ...is black as incest. Once I knew it, the sinful father seemed not angry but smooth — and you know this: it's time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss. My fear grew so great that I fled, hidden in the night, which became my protector. Now here, I think about what was, what will be. I know he's tyrannical; tyrants' fears don't lessen with time, they grow. He'll surely suspect I'll tell everyone how many princes died to keep his bed of darkness sealed. To stop that, he'll send armies and make war my excuse. My innocent people — every one of them — will suffer for what I did, and none deserved it. They're your people too, and you now criticize me for my pain — but thinking of their suffering drains my body and my soul.
You're like a doctor giving me medicine that would kill you to take. Here's what happened: I went to Antioch to marry this perfect woman and have kids — good for princes, good for people. She was beautiful beyond words. But everything else? Black with incest. When I figured it out, her father didn't get angry — he got smooth and kind. That's when you know you're dead — when a tyrant starts being nice to you. My fear was so huge I had to run, and the dark night saved my life. Now I'm here thinking: what happens next? I know Antiochus. He's terrified. Tyrants get more scared over time, not less. He knows I know. He's going to think I'll tell everyone what he did. So he'll invade. He'll make it look justified. And all my people — innocent people, your people — they'll suffer because of me. I'm eating myself alive thinking about them.
i went to antioch. she was perfect. he was sleeping with her. incest. he pretended to be nice. that meant die. i ran. now he'll invade. my people die. because of me.
Alas, sir!
Alas, my lord!
Oh, sir...
no...
Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,
Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts
How I might stop this tempest ere it came;
And finding little comfort to relieve them,
I thought it princely charity to grieve them.
His knowledge destroyed my sleep, drained blood from my cheeks, filled my thoughts with a thousand doubts about how to stop this coming catastrophe. Finding no comfort, I thought the most princely thing was to grieve for my people.
Knowing what I know killed my sleep, made me pale, filled my head with a thousand ways this could go wrong. I couldn't comfort myself, so I decided to suffer instead. That felt like the right thing to do as a prince.
lost sleep. no blood in my face. doubts. no comfort. just pain. for them.
Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,
Who either by public war or private treason
Will take away your life.
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while,
Till that his rage and anger be forgot,
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.
Your rule direct to any; if to me,
Day serves not light more faithful than I’ll be.
Well, my lord, since you've allowed me to speak, I'll speak freely. You fear Antiochus — rightly so, I think. He's a tyrant who will kill you by public war or private assassination. So travel for a while, until his rage passes or fate cuts his life short. Leave your rule to anyone, or to me — I'll be more faithful than daylight. Your rule will not lack guidance.
Okay, since you're letting me talk: Antiochus terrifies you, and he should. He's a tyrant. He'll kill you either by invading or by assassination. Leave. Go somewhere else. Wait for his anger to cool, or wait for him to die. Appoint whoever you want to run things, or give it to me. I won't fail you. I promise that.
leave. go now. wait for him to die. i'll protect tyre. or give it to anyone. i won't fail.
I do not doubt thy faith;
But should he wrong my liberties in my absence?
I don't doubt your faith. But while I'm gone, what if he harms my freedoms — my kingdom?
I trust you completely. But what if while I'm away, he attacks Tyre?
you're loyal. but what if he invades while i'm gone?
We’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth,
From whence we had our being and our birth.
We'll mingle our bloods in the earth from which we came and where we'll return.
We'll die together if it comes to that. We came from the earth and we'll go back to it.
we die together. same earth. same blood.
Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus
Intend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee;
And by whose letters I’ll dispose myself.
The care I had and have of subjects’ good
On thee I lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it.
I’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:
Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both:
But in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe,
That time of both this truth shall ne’er convince,
Thou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince.
Tyre, I leave you now. I intend to travel to Tarsus, where I'll wait for your letters, and by them decide what comes next. The care I've had and have for my people's welfare — I leave that in your hands, Helicanus, whose wisdom is strong enough to bear it. I'll trust your word without your oath. Whoever breaks one oath will shatter both. But in our responsibilities we'll live so safely guarded by virtue that time itself will confirm this truth: you've shown yourself a faithful subject, and I've shown myself a true prince.
I'm leaving Tyre. I'm going to Tarsus and waiting for letters from you. Your letters will tell me what to do next. Everything I care about for Tyre — I'm putting that on you. Your judgment is strong enough. I trust your word without making you swear. Anyone who breaks one oath will break both. But we'll do this right — we'll be so careful and honest that even time will prove we were faithful: you as a loyal subject, me as a real prince.
i'm leaving. go to tarsus. wait for letters. you're in charge. i trust you. no oath needed. trust matters more than promises.
The Reckoning
After the spectacle of the court at Antioch, this is an intimate scene about what good counsel actually looks like. Helicanus refuses to flatter a troubled king, risks his neck for it, and is rewarded with trust. Pericles, we learn, has the rarest quality in a leader: he can hear criticism. The audience leaves knowing Pericles has one genuinely loyal advisor — and knowing that Tyre is about to be left without its prince.
If this happened today…
Picture a startup founder who just stumbled onto evidence that a potential acquirer is running a massive fraud. He flies home in a panic, cancels all meetings, and locks himself in the office. His head of legal walks in, sees him brooding, and — instead of the usual reassuring spin — says: 'You're making this worse. Here's what you actually need to do.' The founder is briefly furious, then realizes the lawyer is the only person being straight with him. He hands over the company's keys and books a six-month sabbatical in a country without an extradition treaty.