In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets – As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands Was sick almost to Doomsday with eclipse.

Hey, at least the horses didn’t eat each other!
Caesar’s death may have caused the dead to rise and make strange noises
It may have caused the sun to go dark
And the stars to rain blood
But no horses eating each other.
Amazing how the death of a monarch
Shakes the very foundations of life.
The dead rose up out of their graves even in anticipation
Of losing Julius Caesar.
Yet, why should the dead care?
What does it matter to the dead
Wrapped in dirty sheets
Who rules?
The earth itself remains the same
No matter whose flags are planted on it.
Why the dead,
Who should be past caring,
Would climb out of the warm earth
To gibber on the streets for an emperor, I cannot fathom.
Except for the fact that it makes a good story.

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