COUNSELOR: Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
COUNSELOR: Did you call just to laugh at us?
CAESAR: Who calls?
COUNSELOR: You did, sir.
CASCA: Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!
COUNSELOR: Wait—are you on speakerphone?
CAESAR: Who is it in the press that calls on me?
COUNSELOR: With reporters? We respect your privacy sir, but we can’t stop them from publishing if you include them on the call.
CAESAR: I hear a tongue, shriller than the music,
COUNSELOR: On your end, or on mine?
CAESAR: Cry ‘Caesar!’
COUNSELOR: This is the Poetry Crisis Line, sir. If you’re calling to order a salad, you have the wrong number.
COUNSELOR: I’m here to listen to you, sir.
CAESAR: Caesar is turn’d to hear.
COUNSELOR: But if I’m listening to you, and you’re listening to me, who’s going to talk?
SOOTHSAYER: Beware the ides of March.
COUNSELOR: I’m sorry?
CAESAR: What man is that?
COUNSELOR: I don’t know. Do you? I mean, I respect your privacy, sir. And his.
BRUTUS: A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
COUNSELOR: Right. What’s an ide?