Beware the Ides of March.
For nothing goes and nothing comes,
But friends will turn to thieves.
Nothing hails of joy when friends our lives destroy.
The Ides bring naught but sorrow
To the camps of Roman soldiers.
The Ides, the Ides
Beware the Ides of March.
Tis then you'll see the end is nigh
And never gain tomorrow.
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