Ides of March, Yet Again. I blame British Theater

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 turned to hear!

Soothsayer: Beware the Ides of March.

Caesar: What? You again?

Soothsayer: It's March the 15th on the calendar, Caesar.
Bloody right I'm here.

Caesar: But you warn me every year!
And every year I parade into the Senate,
Unarmed like a newish plebe, standing
Amid friends now sworn to dire purpose
Against me

Soothsayer: And yet, I do warn you
Even still that the day is not yet done

Cassius: How many ages hence
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

Soothsayer: Oh, many ages foolish lean hungry guy
Because this other fellow who
Shakes his spear upon the stage
Wrote us up a treat in this play of his
In which we do this over and over
Mostly in bad English
What the hell IS iambic pentameter anyway

Brutus: I do fear this future of yours

Soothsayer: Hey, I see the future I don't write it
If I could do anything to stop the foolishness
I'd have warned everyone about 
Trump's vicious ties to Russia decades
afore he slouched down that escalator

Caesar: What's this about Trump?

Soothsayer: He lies and bullies his way into
the Presidency in the Common Era year
of 2016 and worse
schemes painfully to regain the office
the following 2024 with more
destructive ambitions than any
you yourselves hold in your hearts
all of you

(long pause among the characters)

Caesar: Know what? Brutus, go ahead
with your steely knives, I ain't
even bothered anymore.

(Conspirators stab Caesar)

Caesar: Thank the Gods! I die free of Trump!

(dies)

Soothsayer: Lucky bastard.