Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan

For the present, then, I forgive your impertinence! but I impignorate my promise to make sausages of your intestines if you ever bore me again with your pig-my prittle prattle.

Without meed of some melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well …

To put it more directly: he's not 'made redundant' but sacked.