As your master, I demand it, and this room to me restore;
Take yon saucepan from my table; clear my bed, for you are able,
Of your wardrobe, and the baby take where it was heretofore;
For I long to sink in slumber: nurse, I’m dying for a snore!”
Quoth that woman, “Never more!”
“Be that word our sign of parting, monthly nurse,” said I, upstarting,
“Get thee gone, thou Gamp outrageous, to where’er thou wast before;
Leave that bottle as a token of the rest that thou hast broken—
Now be off—have I not spoken? Get thee gone, Gamp, there’s the door—
Take thy wardrobe from my bed, and take thyself out through that door!”