He boxed the watch; he fuddled himself at taverns; he was no better than a Mohock.
The chronicles of that day contain accounts of many a mad prank which he played, as we have legends of a still earlier date of the lawless freaks of the wild Prince and Poins.

Our people has never looked very unkindly on these frolics.

A young nobleman, full of life and spirits, generous of his money, jovial in his humour, ready with his sword, frank, handsome, prodigal, courageous, always finds favour.

Young Scapegrace rides a steeplechase or beats a bargeman, and the crowd applauds him.
Sages and seniors shake their heads, and look at him not unkindly; even stern old female moralists are disarmed at the sight of youth and gallantry, and beauty.

I know very well that Charles Surface is a sad dog, and Tom Jones no better than he should be; but, in spite of such critics as Dr.Johnson and Colonel Newcome, most of us have a sneaking regard for honest Tom, and hope Sophia will be happy, and Tom will end well at last.
Five-and-twenty years ago the young Earl of Kew came upon the town, which speedily rang with the feats of his lordship.