a pack of lies

the puffings and pantings of a man running to catch a train

Come, come, we / All are Friends, nor have we Time for Jibe, / Or Anger now, but 'gainſt our common Foes, / The French and Scot; there let your Pray'rs, and Jeſts, / And Blows, be levell’d.

Let me take you out for dinner.