CAESAR
Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry ‘Caesar!’ Speak; Caesar is turn’d to hear.
Soothsayer
Beware the ides of March.
CAESAR
What man is that?
BRUTUS
A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
CAESAR
Set him before me; let me see his face.
CASSIUS
Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.
CAESAR
What say’st thou to me now? speak once again.
Soothsayer
Beware the ides of March.
CAESAR
He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
A perfect sky for this day…
Filed under: Photography Tagged: haze, Julius Caesar, Shakespeare, sky, sun, The Ides Of March, the press, Trump