Tom Jones: Lyric Comedy in Three Acts

It seems to me that you do not hate that one too much.

In good faith, can one hate him? He is so polite, so well-made!

Do you know, my dear, that I will end up believing you are in love with him?

Ah! you want to amuse yourself at my expense: believe, my dear Mistress, that I know my station. I know that poor Mr. Jones knows neither his parents nor his family; but I also know that the uncertainty of his fate is worth more than the reality of mine; cherished by your father, raised by Alworthy, all that supposes some secret motive, and I am so persuaded of it that one always sees me the first to take his side against all those who chatter about it.

That is very good of you, I praise you for it.

I have already made an observation.

What is it?

That grave Dowling, that Quaker, who is like the steward of Mr. Alworthy—he who uses the familiar tutoie thou/thee address with everyone, who greets no one, whose approach is so abrupt, the tone so hard, the spirit so proud—see when he speaks of Monsieur Jones, he treats him with consideration, with respect.

But... I have noticed it.

Come, Mademoiselle, Heaven is just; it will allow