Julius Caesar calls the Poetry Crisis Line

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.

CAESAR: Speak;

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?

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