Alfred. My good mistress, here comes a pilgrim boy to ask thy charity. May I bestow one of these cakes on him?
Switha. Thou mayest do what thou wilt with thine own, man! but do not presume to give away my property to idle fellows like thyself.
Alfred. But, mistress, may I not give him that which was to have been my portion for dinner?
Switha. No, indeed! I have enough to do with feeding one vagrant without adding all the lazy pilgrims who pass by.
Alfred. See, mistress, my amulet! I will give thee this jewel, Switha, if thou wilt permit me to feed this poor pilgrim.
Switha. Very well, then. Give him thy portion while I go and hide the jewel.
[Goes out as Odulph enters.]
Alfred. Welcome, Odulph! Tell me thy tidings. I hunger for good news.
Odulph. My tidings, royal Alfred, are these: Hubba, the Dane, the terror of England, is slain, and his banner of the Raven waves in my father's hall!
Alfred. What? Is thy father's castle in the possession of the Danes?