The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars

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: The ides of March are come.

Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; but not gone.

--C.