morning, noon
`` You do n't understand , because you do n't know the tricks of this rotten theater . For eleven weeks I 've been rehearsing . For eleven weeks -- time enough to produce a couple of Shakespeare 's bally plays in Latin , -- I 've put up with the brow-beating of that mad dog Jackrack . For eleven weeks , without touching one dirty little Mosely cent , I 've worked at my part and numbers , morning , noon and night ; and now , on the edge of production , he cuts me out and puts in a simpering cow with a fifteen-thousand-dollar necklace and a snapping little Pekinese to oblige one of his angels , and I 'm reduced to the chorus . I wish I was dead , I tell you -- I wish I was dead and buried and at peace . I wish I could creep home and get into bed and never see another day of this cruel life . Oh , I 'm just whipped and broke and out .