By Callum 
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.
Shakespeare, Julius Ceasar
In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, a soothsayer utters the chilling words: “Beware the ides of March.” It is a warning Caesar brushes aside, dismissing the voice of prophecy as nothing more than a dream. Days later, the dream becomes reality—betrayal strikes, and Rome’s leader falls beneath the blades of those he trusted most.
The Ides of March, once just a date on the Roman calendar, has since become a symbol. It carries with it the weight of conspiracy, the inevitability of fate, and the timeless reminder that power often attracts treachery. Paintings and sculptures across centuries have returned to this moment: Caesar rising proudly, then collapsing under the assault of his peers; the Senate transformed into a stage for blood and history.
To beware the Ides of March is not only to remember Caesar’s death. It is to understand how fragile trust can be, how quickly loyalty can turn, and how warnings—ignored—can shape destiny. The phrase lingers because it speaks to something more than ancient Rome. It is a reminder that downfall rarely arrives without a whisper first, and that prophecy, whether divine or human, sometimes waits patiently for us to dismiss it before striking true.