All language subtitles for The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling 1997 Ep3

Ah.

Now...

as we are entering a state of our journey in which
we will be obliged to witness some matters

of a more shacking nature
than any which have hitherto occurred,

it may be proper to reflect
on some of the moral lessons.

Here is Miss Western already,
fleeing from the wrath of her father,

the explanations of Mr Jones
and marriage with Mr Blifil.

I am now quite easy in my mind, Honour.

This way is London, Your Ladyship.

I have never been more easy than at present.

I am now convinced that Mr Jones is
not only a villain but a low and despicable wretch.

I can forgive all rather than his exposing
my good name in so barbarous a manner.

That alone renders him the abject of my contempt.
I am indeed...

I am very easy.

Ah...

Come on, lads. Follow me. That's it. Keep up.
Keep up, lads. Keep it up.

The London road.
I warrant the bitch has gone to London.

After me. Follow me, lads.

Came on, Supple, stay with me. Come on, lad.
Can you not travel faster...

Sophia!

Ah.

Sure, fortune will never have done with me
till she has driven me to distraction.

Aye, sir.

I wish Your Honour would follow my advice.

And why should I not?
I now no longer care what becomes of me.

Consider, sir, our woeful situation.

Miss Western is gone. We know not where.
And our purses are almost empty.

What do I care for such trifles,
when I've lost my...

My advice then, sir, is
that you immediately face about and return home.

For anyone who has such a home as Your Honour
to return to

would be foolish to travel by the country
like a vagabond.

Alas, I have no home to return to.
And I have lost my angel.

But surely Mr Allworthy...

No, Partridge. I shall go to sea as I first intended.

It is a glorious calling
and I will willingly sacrifice my life in it.

We will make our way to Bristol.

Your Ladyship.

Harriet!

Sophia.

In God's name! Well, how came you here, cousin?

I beg you, Harriet, let us suspend our curiosity
until we arrive at some inn further down the road.

But where are you going?

Well, the same way as you, it appears.

Come on, lads. I can smell the bitch from here!

Sophy!

Follow me, now.
You'll never get away from me again!

Whoa!

Pox! This is not London!

A bank bill for? 100. Your Honour, we're saved.

- Indeed, sir, we are rich beyond our dreams.
- Miss Western passed this way.

Miss Western?

This is her pocketbook, Partridge. Come.
If we make haste, we may yet catch up with her.

Oh, Sophia, dear our cousin.
I never reflect without sorrow on those happy days

which we spent together
under the care of our dear Aunt Western in Bath.

Since I eloped to Ireland with my husband
two years ago,

I have written her
many supplicating and moving letters,

but have never yet received an answer.

And I soon made the unhappy discovery
that my husband still kept a mistress in Dublin.

Indeed, Harriet, I pity you from my soul,
but what could you expect?

Why? Why marry an Irishman?

His designs were strictly honourable.

That is, to rob me of my fortune
by way of marriage,

and once he had spent all the ready money
of my fortune,

he demanded I sell the rest of my estate
to supply him with cash for his extravagance.

When I refused, he confined me to my roam
and swore I should never go out of it alive.

- Harriet.
- I must have been blind.

You need not be ashamed, cousin.

For sure there are irresistible charms
in tenderness

which too many men know how to effect.

Haw true. When I reflect on the women of sense
who have been undone by fools...

SOPHIA: Indeed. It is very likely
I shall never marry at all.

Pray, proceed, cousin.
How can you buy your liberty? How came you here?

Oh, I wouldn't tire you with all the particulars.

But in a word, I made haste to England,

where my husband overtook me last night
at the inn at Upton.

I had the good luck to escape him
and must have left, why, only minutes after you.

And now, dear Sophia,
well, you must relate to me your history.

Well...

And so Sophia relates to her cousin
what hath gone before,

except that she makes no more mention
of our hero, Mr Jones,

from the beginning to the end
than if there had been no such person alive,

which I shall not endeavour to account for
since at this very moment,

a rich and handsome lord hath arrived
most unexpectedly from Ireland.

Merciful heavens. Lord Connaught.
What an unexpected surprise, sir.

Good gracious, cousin.

I see a noble lord of my acquaintance has
by chance most unexpectedly arrived from Ireland.

Most unexpectedly.

Zounds! Mrs Fitzpatrick.

Indeed, I cannot forbear
expressing my surprise at meeting you here.

This young lady, sire, is a cousin of mine

and has escaped
from as great a tyrant as my own.

My compliments, madam,
and my commiserations.

They say, madam,
the French have landed at Dover.

In view of the grave situation in the country,

may I have the honour
of offering you my protection

for the rest of the journey to London?

Are you sure this is prudent, cousin?

My child, would you really think of riding
around the country alone and in the dark

when the Jacobite rebels are everywhere?

And have you not lost the? 100 bank bill which is,
at present, most of the treasure you are worth?

Make space.

Sir, I beseech you. A gentleman may
call here after, inquiring about me.

Sophia.

If you have any compassion or goodness,
you will not betray our calling here.

I betray Your Ladyship? No.
I would sooner cut myself in into 10,000 pieces.

My wife can witness for me, Your Ladyship.

Thank you.

Phwoar. I'd like to get her alone in a wood,

strip her naked, ravish her.

Yeah.

Sir, may I crave the favour to know
if any ladies have passed by here this evening?

Ladies? No, no ladies.

A puppet show! I love a puppet show
of all the pastimes upon earth.

Do, good sir, let us tarry and see it.

Consider, sir, we no longer have any assurance
on being on the road we desire.

Besides, I'm famished to death,

for it's now quite dark and I've not eaten a morsel
since 3:00 this morning.

And as we find, sir,
that Miss Western has not gone this way,

how much better would it be therefore, sir,
to stay here till the morning

when we may expect to meet
with someone to inquire of?

Certainly, sir, if ever a man deserved a young lady,
you deserve Madam Western.

What a vast quantity of love must a man have

to be able to live upon it without any other food,
as you do.

But didn't fortune send us
an excellent dainty today?

Do you imagine I couldn't live more than a day
on this dear pocketbook?

Undoubtedly, there is enough in that pocketbook
to buy many a good meal.

And fortune sent it to Your Honour
most opportunely, for our money is almost out.

I hope you don't imagine
that I should be dishonest enough,

even if it belonged to any other person
besides Miss Western.

- But Your Honour...
- No.

Consider, sir...

My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,

we have the honour to present for you
the tragedy of Macbeth...

... by Mr William Shakespeare.

As seen at the theatres Royal,

Drury Lane, and the Covent Garden.

And performed by myself.

Here you are.
I thought you'd like to quench your thirst.

Oh, that's very kind of you.

So, who is it that we have here?

Why, it is our own dear King George.

"I'm quite right. I'm quite right. "

But wait. Who is that skulking in the corner?

Can it be? Yes, it is.

The filthy papist pretender, Charles Stuart.

"Ooh-la-la! Ooh-la-la!
I have French knickers. "

- The same thing as I was saying.
- Really?

Sir! Sir. I would by no means
degrade the ingenuity of your profession,

but I should have liked
to have seen my old favourite

Master Punch and his merry wife Judy tonight.

And so, far from improving your puppet show
by leaving them out, sir,

I think you have spoiled your puppet show.

This is probably true, sir,

but it is just your opinion,

and I happen to have the satisfaction of knowing
that better judges than you differ from it.

I will not degrade my profession.

I will not spoil the moral decency of my stage

by introducing such low stuff as this.

I do not doubt for a minute

that when the public arises from my little show,

that they do so having gained a moral lesson
which will stand them...

Get out!

Damn your blood, you old wretch!

That beautiful lady leaving here tonight
in that carriage,

can you deny that you wished to have had her
alone in a wood to strip naked and to ravish her?

Unfair of you, falling on me
for doing no harm to a girl as willing as myself,

only because she likes me better than you.

Here, you blackhead, you see the consequences
of our bringing these people in our house?

Sir, you mentioned a beautiful lady
leaving in a carriage.

Right there, sir.
There, off on the road to London she went, sir,

with another young lady and a fine, handsome lord
in a great carriage and six, sir.

Fine handsome lord?

Aye, sir. Lord Connaught,
as wealthy a gentleman as any is in London.

The London road.
Nay, sure, this is the road to Bristol.

No. No, sir. No.

You are no more on the right road to Bristol, sir,

than is the cruel counting miser on the right road
to heaven. No. No, this is the way to London.

- London?
- Yes.

Then to London we go, Partridge.

Now?

As fate, for once,
treats our hero rather better than he deserves,

we shall leave him to do weary penance
for his past offences on the road to London,

and attend the fine, handsome Lord Connaught
and his fair companions...

SOPHIA: Stop!

... who have made such good speed
that they performed a journey of 90 miles

in a mere two days.

London.

And as we have now brought Sophia safely
to His Lordship's townhouse

in the fashionable and exclusive suburb
of Hackney,

we shall now pay a brief visit
to some other distinguished personages

we have perhaps too long neglected.

Firstly, the sober Mr Blifil,

now returning home to Mr Allworthy's
from his fruitless pursuit of Miss Western.

Well, Nephew, what news?

Our endeavour was not entirely successful
on this occasion...

sir.

And not forgetting,
of course, the sober Squire Western,

who hath by great ill fortune
failed to find his daughter Sophia

in any of the taverns
between Bristol and his home.

# And I hear the sound of coaches #

# The hour of attack approaches #

Good afternoon, Miss Western.

Mr Blifil.

Mr Dowling.

How goes your business, sir?

Oh, Your Honour, there's so much to attend to.

If only I could divide myself up into four quarters,

I should know
how to dispose of every one of them.

You recall, sir,

the night you brought the tragic news
of my mother's death to Mr Allworthy's house?

Indeed I do, sir.

And the letter my mother wrote to Mr Allworthy
from her deathbed?

The letter I gave Your Honour to deliver to him?

Did you read that letter, Mr Dowling?

It is possible, Your Honour,
that I am aware of its contents.

That letter, sir, my uncle, out of regard
for the good name of the family, has destroyed.

He wishes you to know
he intends to conceal its contents from the world

and would never have it mentioned again.

Not to himself, nor to any other person living.

Indeed.

Furthermore, the office of steward for my uncle's
estate and affairs is about to become vacant.

Would such a position be of interest to you,
Mr Dowling?

London, I have heard,
is the very worst of places to be without money.

And to be sure, sir,

it is a scandalous way of travelling
for a great gentleman like you to walk afoot.

By now Miss Western, as it would appear,
has thrown herself under the protection

of that fine handsome lord.

We cannot be doubting
he will let her have everything she needs.

Besides, if she should want
a little of that bank bill in your pocket,

she can't want the whole.

You old rogue, Partridge! You will most certainly
be hanged. I tell thee again...

Might I inquire, good sirs,
if you're travelling to London?

We are indeed, sir.

Then I should be obliged to you, sirs,
if you will accept of my company,

for it is very late, and I am a stranger to the way.

And I'm greatly afeared, far this road, they say,
is plagued with highwaymen.

I have very little to lose, sir,
and consequently as little to fear,

but if you'll ride with us, we accept with pleasure.

Your Honour may think it a little.

But I'm sure if I had a hundred pound banknote
in my pocket, as you have,

I should be very sorry to lose it.

You can be sure though,
for my part, I am not afraid.

For we are three.

And if we all stand by one another...

... the best man in England cannot rob us.

Might I trouble you, sir,
to hand over that little banknote?

All the money we have in our pockets, sir,
is entirely at your service,

but the hundred pound note mentioned
is not our own.

If you do not deliver that banknote, sir,
I must shoot you this instant.

Kill the villain, sir! Dispatch him now!
Kill him this instant!

Have mercy, goad sir.
This is the first robbery I've ever attempted,

and I've been driven to it out of distress, sir.

Five hungry children and a wife lying in
of the sixth in the utmost want and misery.

Indeed, good sir, I'd no intention to shoot you,
for you'll find the pistol's not loaded.

- Not loaded?
- No, indeed, sir.

I hope for your sake, sir, you speak the truth.

Give this to your wife and family, sir.
I only wish we had more.

Thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you.

Come, my friend. Let us make haste,
for tomorrow we'll reach the end of our journey.

London, the finest city in the world, Partridge.

And how shall we find Miss Western
in this great city, Mr Jones?

We shall ask, Mr Partridge.

And how shall we eat in this great city, Mr Jones?

FIELDING: As our hero
searches for Miss Western,

Miss Western herself searches
for her cousin Harriet

in the grand house of Lord Connaught.

Really, cousin, I defy all the world
to cast a just aspersion on my character.

But I do wonder, cousin...

Nay. The most scandalous tongues
have never dared censure my reputation.

My fame, I thank heaven,
has been always as spotless as my life.

I wonder, cousin,
as His Lordship's wife is not at present in town,

if it is quite proper for us
to accept a bed in his house.

Fie, child! My noble Lord Connaught is
a gentleman of the very best character.

His love for his wife is the talk of all London,

and he is almost certainly the only person
of high rank

who is entirely constant to the marriage bed.

No, Sophia, there are some people so malicious,
some tongues so venomous,

that no innocence can escape them.

The slightest familiarity or the most innocent look
would be misconstrued and magnified into a...

I know not what by some people.

But I despise, my dear Sophia,
I despise all such slander.

And when you have seen and read
as much as myself, you will despise it, too.

I have sent a message to my relation
Lady Bellaston, to announce my arrival in London.

Should I receive an invitation from this lady,
I have determined to accept it.

For heaven's sake, Harriet, do take care of yourself
and consider how dangerous a position you stand.

My only hope is that some method can be found
of reconciling you to your husband.

Dear Sophia, let me give you one piece of advice.

Leave your rustic attitudes in the country,

for believe me,
they will sit very awkwardly upon you in this town.

FIELDING: Our hero, as well as Mr Partridge,
was an entire stranger in London.

And as they happened to arrive first
in a quarter of town

where the inhabitants have very little intercourse

with persons of quality and fashion
as Lord Connaught,

they passed the whole day in successless inquiry

before Jones at last
yielded to the advice of Mr Partridge

and retreated to find lodgings for the night.

By the time they arrived at the establishment
of Mrs Miller's in Bond Street,

where Mr Allworthy is accustomed to stay
when he's in town,

it was already a very advanced hour.

Seems a most reputable house, Your Honour.
In a good area of town, too.

This good landlady is the widow of a clergyman,
an acquaintance of Mr Allworthy's

who passed away and left his wife
with only a daughter

and a complete set of Anglican sermons.

No! You get off me, you...

Get off me!

Thank you, sir, for your heroic assistance.

Yes indeed, thank you, sir.

I beg you, madam, never mention it more.

Tom Jones, your servant.

This is my friend, Mr Partridge.

May I introduce my daughter, Miss Nancy Miller,

and Mr Jack Nightingale,
who has rooms on the second floor?

And I'm Mrs Miller.

I trust, sir,
you will not conclude from this accident

that I am in the custom of striking my servants,

but the fellow mentioned the name
of Miss Nancy here...

Who has little, heaven knows, but her character

and the reputation of this house
to recommend her.

... in such a manner that, in short,
incensed me beyond all patience.

I must confess, sir, on such provocation,
I would have done the same thing.

In which case, sir, I must most strenuously insist
that you take part of a bottle of wine with me

while Mrs Miller prepares your rooms.

Thank you for your kind offer, sir. We accept.

And the very next morning, while Mr Jones goes
once again in search of Lord Connaught,

Miss Western arrives
at the house of Lady Bellaston,

whose character and virtue are
the talk of all London.

Miss Western, Your Ladyship.

My dear, my dear,
I commend your actions with all my heart

and can only applaud
your good sense and resolution.

In running from so detestable a match
with such a country booby squire,

you have demonstrated the most exquisite taste.

I would plunge a dagger in my heart

rather than submit to be the wife
of that contemptible wretch.

I'm sure you frighten me out of my wits,
dear Sophia.

Tell me, how does poor Mrs Fitzpatrick?

I fear, madam,
that my cousin is no better than she should be.

No.

The noble lord who brought us to London

has an estate in the neighbourhood
of Mr Fitzpatrick in Ireland.

And I fear that he is not only
an intimate acquaintance of my dear cousin,

but in reality... but in reality...

but in reality, a very particular friend.

How scandalous.

It was by his assistance that she was enabled
to escape from her husband in Ireland.

No doubt, my dear,
he has the same gallant disposition

as those renowned knights errant
of whom we read in heroic story

and hath delivered many an imprisoned nymph
from durance.

I must confess, madam.
I have come to throw myself on your mercy.

Now you know all. Will you keep my secret
and protect me from my father

until he can be brought to some reason
in this matter?

To push so dutiful a daughter to such extremes,

your father must indeed be taught a lesson.

I promise you faithfully
all the protection which it is in my power to give.

Might I inquire if this is indeed
the house of Lord Connaught?

His Lordship will see no one this morning.

I have a very particular business with a young lady
who recently came to town with His Lordship

and will not depart without seeing her.

I have positive orders to allow no one in,

but if you think it proper to leave your name,
I will acquaint His Lordship.

A gentleman? Inquiring after Miss Western?

This must be same person dispatched
by my Uncle Western in pursuit of Sophia.

Or perhaps yet Mr Blifil, madam.

A remarkably handsome young gentleman,
this Mr Blifil.

Send him away.

May I least have permission
to call upon the lady again tomorrow?

I cannot say whether Mrs Fitzpatrick
will be receiving visitors, sir.

Mrs Fitzpatrick?

Mrs Fitzpatrick.

Sure, madam, he's too pretty a man,
in my opinion,

for any woman in the world to run away from.
I had rather fancy it is Mr Jones.

Mr Jones? What Jones?

Well, Miss Western's maid Honour
told me that Miss Western...

Partridge.

The lady who accompanied Miss Western
to London

is none other than her cousin Mrs Fitzpatrick.

I think it probable, therefore,
that Sophia's inside but denying me.

This I can only repute to her resentment
of what happened in that tavern at Upton.

Your being a-bed with that slut, Your Honour?

I shall call again on Mrs Fitzpatrick tomorrow.
Come on.

And where did you hear
this extraordinary account?

Why, madam, from Miss Western's maid herself.

You are certainly in the right.

It must certainly be this Mr Jones.

He is a very pretty fellow.

And I don't wonder that my cousin's maid
should tell you so many women are fond of him.

I'm sorry now I did not inform him
where Sophia is.

And yet,

if he be so terrible a rake as Honour tells you,
then it is a pity she should ever see him anymore.

For what but a ruin can came from marrying a rake
and a beggar against her father's consent?

I protest.
If he be such a man as Honour described to you,

then it is but an office of charity
to keep her from him.

I must see what Lady Bellaston will advise.

Indeed, madam,
this is a matter of great consequence.

Does Your Ladyship not think

that it would be best to write immediately
to my Uncle Western

and acquaint him where his daughter is?

Why, no, madam, I think not.

You must find same other way
to reconcile yourself to your family

after such an ill-advised marriage.

Squire Western, as all the world knows,
is such a brute

that I cannot consent to put any woman
under his power that has escaped from it.

The business, madam,
will be to keep Miss Western

from seeing this fellow Jones
until the good company,

which she will have the opportunity
of meeting here in London,

should give her a proper return.

If he should find her out, madam,

Your Ladyship may be assured
he will leave nothing unattempted to come at her.

Pray, madam, is this terrible fellow
really so very fine a figure as you represent him?

He is, in truth, madam,
an extraordinarily pretty young man.

It is indeed possible he may get some intelligence
where Sophia is

and then lurk about the house here.

I wish therefore I knew his person.

Is there no way, madam,
by which I could have a sight of him?

for otherwise, you know, he may contrive
to see her here without my knowledge.

Indeed, madam, he has threatened me
with another visit tomorrow.

You may know, sir,
that Miss Western and I are cousins.

And as we are such, you will permit me the right
of inquiring into the particulars of your business?

I have, madam, a considerable sum of money
of hers, of which I hope to deliver to her hand.

Indeed. And how did you come by this money, sir?

As I came upon a ford by the river,
I happened to spy...

Sir, as to your business,
I cannot possibly give you an answer today,

but if you care to leave word
where I might send for you tomorrow...

I am satisfied that Miss Western
can be in no danger from this fellow,

but common humanity, as well as regard
for our family, requires us to keep him from her,

- for it would be a dreadful match indeed.
- Hmm.

Nothing can be more commendable
than the part you have played, madam,

but out of regard for your honour,

I would most earnestly entreat
that you no longer receive Mr Jones here,

nor have any further communication with him.

His Lordship would almost certainly
draw the wrong conclusions.

A letter from Mrs Fitzpatrick, Your Honour.

Mrs Fitzpatrick writes
that she's left for the country

and cannot say when she might return.

For heaven's sake, sir!

What can we do now?

How can Your Honour live in this town
without money?

Well, not by cards, I'll warrant.

Mr Jones, this was just delivered
by a footman for you.

The man went immediately away,
saying that it required no answer.

A ticket to the masquerade.

Well, I conclude, Tom,
you must be a very happy man.

I make no doubt that these were sent to you
by some young lady

whom you will have the happiness of meeting
at the masquerade tonight.

Sophy.

Now you are here, sir,
you must beat about for your own game.

WOMAN: Phyllis, wait for me.

Sophia. Sophia.

Do I know you, sir?

If you talk any longer with that trollop,
I will acquaint Miss Western.

My good harlequin, I know you well,

notwithstanding the affected disguise
of your voice.

I thought you two had left for the country.

Indeed, sir?

Indeed, Mrs Fitzpatrick.

It is a little cruel to divert yourself
at the expense of my torments.

Though you have so ingeniously discovered me,

I must still speak with the same voice,
lest I should be known by others.

I entreat you, madam,
to tell me where I might find Miss Western.

I imagine Mr Jones
to have been a more discerning lover

than to suffer any disguise
to conceal his mistress from him.

Well, is she here then, madam?

I promise you, upon my honour,
Miss Western is not here.

Then I beg you, madam,
to acquaint me where I might find her.

And do you think, good sir,
I have no greater regard for my cousin

than to assist in an affair between you two
which must end in her ruin as well as your own?

Miss Western has very little mare
than her father pleases to give her.

Very little, for one of her fashion.

You know him, and you know your own situation.

I would rather suffer the most violent of deaths

than sacrifice Miss Western's interests
to my desires.

I know how unworthy of her I am in every way

and long ago
resolved to quit all such aspiring thoughts,

but I wish to see her just once more,

after which, I promise,
I shall take leave of her forever.

I love ambition in a young man.

Perhaps, you know, you may succeed
with a woman who is infinitely superior in fortune.

Are you used, Mr Jones,
to making these sudden conquests?

Madam, we were speaking of Miss Western.

Are you so little versed in the fair sex, Mr Jones,

as to imagine you can well entertain a lady
with your passion for another woman?

What indeed could affront us more?

Madam, please.

I beg you...

Sir! Sir! Sir, it's me, Partridge.

I beg you, madam, suffer me to wait on you home.

GUARD: Clear off!

Sure, sir, you must think me very strange

to imagine I would let you into my doors
at this time of night.

Five minutes.

Is Miss Western here?

Mrs Fitzpatrick.

Madam.

Mama!

Oh, Your Honour, you're safe!
I was afraid you'd been robbed and killed.

We're saved.

Your Honour?

Ah, Tom.

You jolly dog, you.

Oh, Mama!

Gentlemen, forgive me.
I've been to see my brother.

Poor man looks rather dead than alive.

His body wracked with cold
and worn with hunger, too.

His wife and son lie at death's door.

And there's no coal in the house. He told me...

Oh, Mama.

He told me he could not bear
to eat the bread his children wanted.

I gave him what I could, but...
Oh, the poor little children.

This was a love match, sir, as they call it.
A marriage between two beggars.

They are a most loving family, Mama.

I must indeed say I've never seen a fonder couple,
but what is that fondness good for?

Here, madam. 'Tis a sum of? 50.

Pray, send as much as you think proper
to these poor people.

Great heavens!

Is there such a man in the world?

I only hope, madam,
there are many who have common humanity.

FOOTMAN: Delivery for Mr Jones.

From a relation of Miss Western's.

Clearly, my love for Miss Western makes it
necessary for me to keep well with this lady,

as I'm sure she knows where I can find my angel.

HORSEMAN: Stay.

Halt.

Walk on.

This last week, madam, I've found myself
growing ever more impatient to see Miss Western.

You must be patient, Thomas.
You know the resolution she's taken against you.

I think the malachite suit today...

Nevertheless, madam...

She has purposely concealed herself from you, sir.
What would you have me do?

I would never have you think me ungrateful,
but if I can speak with her just once...

To what purpose, sir? Do you imagine
you'll ever obtain her father's consent?

No.

And do you forget what ruin awaits her
if she marries without it?

- No, but...
- Beggary, sir, or worse.

How could you even contemplate reducing one
you profess to love to such a condition of misery?

I think it's time I introduced you into society.

I've invited some friends to dine here tonight.

And I promise if you will but come this evening,

I shall do everything I can
to persuade Miss Western

to accept a visit from you in the future.

7:30.

Sharp.

My dear, how would you like
to go to a play tonight?

I hear there's a mast tremendous tragedy
opening at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.

I would like that very much.

It starts at 7:30. Sharp.

WOMAN: Candles, m'lord?
Would you like to buy some candles?

Tom, I protest.
You seem so out of spirits these days.

You must accompany us to a play.

- Yes.
- Yes.

There is same low entertainment
at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens this evening.

The author of the play that opens there tonight
has offended an acquaintance of ours,

and a large party of us are going along
to damn the piece.

Oh, Your Honour, the theatre! Let us go.
I love the theatre of all the pastimes upon earth.

I would gladly come with you both
but I fear I have a prior engagement this evening.

Well, if you change your mind,
it starts at 7:30. Sharp.

Honour!

The world hath often been compared to a theatre.

And many great writers, as well as the poets,
have considered human life as a great drama,

although the theatrical stage is
little more than a representation

or, as Aristotle calls it,
an imitation of what really exists.

Then, now, let me introduce you
to these players in our great drama here:

the beauteous Miss Western,

and the black-hearted Lord Fellamar,
who takes the role of villain in what is to follow,

and the friends and the enemies of the author,

belonging to that formidable set of men
who are called critics.

Vice hath not a more abject slave,

nor can society produce a mare abject vermin,
than the critic.

My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,

tonight we have the honour to present

the great tragedy of Philaster.

The prologue.
While a modern tragedy by rule exact...

ACTRESS: Brings down the thin-wrought fable
act by act.

We dare to bring you one of those bold plays.

Wrote up by rough English wits in former days.

ACTRESS: Those twin stars that run.

Their glorious course
round Shakespeare's golden sun.

Their souls, well-paired, shot far in mingled rays.

Their hands together penned the social bays.

Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They had
strict charge from the King to attend here.

Can you guess the cause?

ACTOR: It is plain about the Spanish Prince,
that has come to marry our kingdom's heir.

Have no fear. You are safe. You are safe, madam.
Madam, you are safe.

Have no fear, madam.
You are safe with me. Madam!

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Oh, no.

No, no, no. No.

Madam. Madam.

- Sophy.
- Tom.

FOOTMAN: Your Ladyship.

Sophy, let me ask your pardon.

My pardon? Sure, sir, you cannot expect
after what I have heard.

Sophy, my only love,

you cannot hate or despise me more
for what happened at Upton than I do myself,

but do me the justice to think my heart
was never unfaithful to you.

That had no share in the folly I was guilty of.
Even then it was unalterably yours.

Though I despaired of possessing you
or of ever seeing you again,

I could truly love no other.

Could I have expected such treatment from you?

From any gentleman, from any man of honour?

Believe me, my angel,
I haven't seen that woman from that day to this

nor intend nor desire to ever see her again.

Sophy.

If only you knew of the thousand torments
I have suffered

in this long, fruitless pursuit.

Sophy,

will you marry me?

And here we think proper to end the chapter.