Tom Jones

Our hero grew apace,

a country lad far happier in the woods than in the study.

A bad hero as may be, with many a weakness.

But then, if Adam hadn't had such a weakness for apples,

there would be nobody to tell Tom's story at all,

and a part of that story

tells of the sport Tom found in the woods.

Oh, Tom.

You wicked dog.

Molly. What are you doing here?

I heard Father tell Mother you was coming.

It's a good night to be abroad and looking for game.

Oh, Tom.

Oh, Tom.

It shall be our custom to leave such scenes

where taste, decorum, and the censor dictate.

In this way we shall try to make up for our incorrigible hero.

As soon as he had left the disreputable Molly,

what did he do but join her equally disreputable father,

Black George,

gamekeeper to Squire All worthy.

Come on.

I hear 'em.

Psst!

Fetch it! Fetch it, boy!

- Come on. - Wait!

That's fallen on Squire Western's ground.

Come on, lads. We'll smoke 'em out.

Well, let's after it.

No. I've been warned for trespassing.

It's our bird. Don't worry, Blackie.

- Come back, Tom! - Here, boy.

Here, boy. Here, boy. Good.

All right, you devils! I'll get you!

I'll have your blood!

- I'll have you out! - Run, Blackie!

Let's give the old man a run for his money.

Whee! Whee!

Mr. Thwackum and Mr. Square were Tom's tutors.

Over the years they tried, with little success,

to thrash into Tom a sense of virtue and religion.

They had, however, a more apt pupil.

Soon after Tom had been found,

the squire's sister, Bridget, married a Captain Blifil

and they had a son.

This young man was quite different from Tom.

He was sober, discreet, and pious beyond his age,

and the whole neighborhood resounded in his praise.

You have only taught Tom to laugh at whatever is decent and virtuous and right.

- I've taught him religion. - Mr. Thwackum.

The word "religion" is as vague and uncertain

as any in the English language.

When I mention religion, I mean the Christian religion.

Not only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion.

And not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England.

I fear that Tom is the embodiment of the old truth

that foundlings should be left to the parish.

My dear tutors, I'm afraid neither of you can touch his bastard's heart.

Neither, indeed.

But there was another who could.

- Tom. - Mmm?

- I want you to help me. - How?

I want you to get me a post, Tom.

Uh-huh.

Miss Western's come back from France and'll be wanting a maid.

I'll speak to her.

Tom, you are kind to me.

Miss Western's maid.

Sophie Western! Miss Western!

Why, Tom Jones!

I've brought you a thrush.

It's beautiful, Tom. How kind of you.

Two years is a long time.

Did they teach you London ways and make a great lady of you?

Most of the time I was in France. My aunt took me there.

Ooh-la! Did you like France, Miss Western?

Mais oui, monsieur. Je me suis très bien amusée, Merci.

- Bon, bon. - You haven't changed, Tom.

You've grown, Sophie. Grown more beautiful than ever.

Doesn't he sing beautifully? I shall teach him some new songs.

I doubt if an English bird can learn French songs, Miss Western.

You'll see.

Your father asked us all to supper.

I came early to ask if you could help Molly, Black George's daughter.

Oh, yes. Father told me the story. He stole a sheep, didn't he?

Black George is a poor man with big, hungry daughters to feed.

Most hungry. I can vouch for it.

Well, I have a maid already, Tom, but I'll see if I can do anything.

- Ah, welcome, neighbors! - Ah, Squire!

- Welcome, welcome. - How nice to see you.

Welcome, madam.

Look! Tom's bought me a thrush!

Oh, what a sweet little bird.

His song is sweeter than any tune of Mr. Handel's.

Ah! Handel.

Tom, thank you.

- She'll dote on it well. - Welcome home, Sophie.

How lovely you're looking, child.

- Aye, it's good to have her home. - Good day, Miss Western.

Let's all go in to dinner.

Oh, dear.

Don't worry, Sophie. I'll get it back for you.

Be careful, Tom.

I am sorry to cause you this distress, Miss Western.

I did not think the bird would fly away.

But still, I cannot help observing that the idea of caged birds

is against the laws of nature.

Don't you agree, Mr. Square?

He's got him!

Aah!

Oh!

He'll drown!

- Quick, get him out! - He's got the bird!

- Help him, someone! - I've got him!

Come on, lad! Give me your hand!

Damn me if I won't love the boy for this as long as I have to live.

- Serves him right. - And you, sir.

Let these be constantly applied.

And then, though we cannot -

- What? - Absolutely promise success,

yet may properly say, with the apostle,

"What knowest thou, O wife,

whether thou shalt save thy husband?"

The weeks passed, and Molly grew apace too.

"O God, Our Help in Ages Past."

Let dogs delight to bark and bite,

for God hath made them so.

Let bears and lions growl and fight,

for 'tis their nature too.

But, ladies, you should never let such angry passions rise.

Your little hands were never made to tear each other's eyes.

There she is. Let's get at her.

Let's thrash her.

Won't have the likes of her in this village.

Won't have her mixing with us good folk.

Take that, ya hussy!

Ha!

I'll get you, Goody Brown, you dirty old harridan!

Back! Back! Please!

Away! Leave her! Leave her!

Oh, Tom.

Oh, Tom.

Don't... Don't leave me, Tom.

Don't worry. Don't worry.

Shh.

Slowly. Slowly.

That filthy slut.

Ah, good boy, good boy.

He's a game lad, your Tom.

So, the wench is having a bastard, eh?

Yes.

It seems the girl has refused to name the father to Mr. All worthy.

He may have to send her to Bridewell.

Father, I have a headache.

I smoke it.

I smoke it!

Tom is the father of that bastard!

Aye! As sure as tuppence, Tom is the bastard's father!

Father - - Ods zodikins!

What a little whore master that boy is!

The girl is ruined, surely.

Aye! Ruined! Ruined, for sure!

Once broken, never mended, eh?

It'll do no harm.

A-Ask Sophie.

She knows about Tom.

You have no worse opinion of a young fellow for getting a bastard, have you, girl?

Well, stop bobbing up and down, girl.

No, no, the women will like him the better for it.

Won't they? Whoo-hoo! Ha!

Uh, come, Sophie. Sing us one of your jolly songs.

Not tonight, Father. I have a headache.

Let's have "St. George, He was for England," or "Bobbing Joan."

That's a good song for tonight, eh?

None of your old Handel now, my little darling.

Ah, you play like an angel.

Molly's reputation was destroyed,

and Tom's heart was heavy with remorse.

Perhaps Mr. Square had been right

that the wicked are snared in the work of their own hands.

Oh. Mr. Jones.

- Where's Molly? - Oh, she - she ain't home.

She's upstairs... in bed.

Who is it?

It's me. Tom.

Why haven't you been to see me before this, Tom?

Molly, I-I-I -

- Ah! - Well, I hope to explain -

I thought you said you'd be my gentleman.

I hoped to explain why-

So you're not going to admit you've had your wicked will of me.

- Molly. - No.

I shall never love another man but you, Tom.

Not if the greatest squire in the country should come a-courtin' to me,

I couldn't give myself to him.

No, Tom.

Not for all the riches in the world, now that you've gained my heart.

You are a lecherous rascal after all, Tom!

I shall always hate and despise the whole -

Mr. Square!