Beware the Ides of March, my son,
The friends that turn, the knives that stab!
Beware the treas'nous traitor scum
That give a brutal jab!
He took his vorpal knife in hand
Long time the emperor-faux he sought
So waited he in conspiracy
And schemed in murd'rous thought
And as he waited, through the door,
That emperor-faux, the C'sar of shame,
Came gliding 'cross the Senate floor
Unwitting as he came.
One two! Three four! And more and more
Their vorpal knives went through his back;
They left him dead, but Brutus swore,
"For Rome, we did attack."
"Look who hast slain our Caesar dear!"
Marc Ant'ny almost seemed to weep.
"This curs-ed day! Alack, I say!
Within doth Caesar sleep!"
















