(silent-film music)
Our hero grew apace.
A country lad, far happier
in the woods than in the study.
A bad hero, it 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.
Ah, Tom.
You wicked dog.
Molly. What are you doing here?
I 'eard Father tell Mother
you was coming.
It's a good night to be abroad
and looking for game.
Ah, Tom...
Oh, Tom...
(both laugh)
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 Allworthy.
- Come on!
- I hear 'em. Psst.
Come on, lads. We'll smoke 'em out.
Fetch it. Fetch it, boy. Come on.
Wait. That's fallen
on Squire Western's ground.
Well, let's after it.
No - I've been warned for trespassing.
It's our bird. Don't worry, Blackie.
- Come back! Come...
- Here, boy. Here, boy. Here, boy.
All right, you devils, I'll get you!
- I'll have your blood! I'll...
- Run, Blackie!
Let's give the old man
a run for his money.
(whooping)
(gunshots continue)
Home, lads. I'll get 'em another night.
- I thought I'd lost you in the woods.
- Short cut.
- We'll be caught one of these days.
- Don't worry.
It's all right for you -
you haven't got a family to keep.
(mimics Black George) I'll look after you.
Here... Take this guinea.
Good night, Blackie.
Our hero, alas, was always being
exploited by villains like Black George.
For a generous man is merely
a fool in the eyes of a thief.
- A sheep?
- Aye, sir, an entire sheep.
A fat animal. Enough
to feed a village for a week.
Hanging up in his cottage
as proud as a battle trophy.
- This is a grave matter.
- A hanging matter.
- Sir, if I may speak on his behalf, I'd...
- Be silent.
Are you guilty?
I am... guilty...
- Sir, forgive him.
- Be quiet, sir. I have to do justice here.
You have committed a capital crime.
The laws have provided the most terrible
penalty: To hang by your neck.
But you have children.
For their sake, I shall only
dismiss you from my service.
And may God have mercy on you.
You're too lenient, Mr Allworthy.
Compassion is one thing, sir,
but justice is another.
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 neighbourhood
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.
By "religion" I mean the Christian religion.
Not only that, but the Protestant religion.
And not only that,
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...
- (grunts)
- I want you to help me.
- How?
I want you to get me a post, Tom.
Mm-hm...
Miss Western's come back from France
and'll be wantin' a maid.