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Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

Exit [Armado, followed by Moth].

Cost. My sweet ounce of man’s flesh, my incony Jew!

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that’s the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings—remuneration. “What’s the price of this inkle?”—“One penny.”—“No, I’ll give you a remuneration”: why, it carries it. Remuneration: why, it is a fairer name than French crown! I will never buy and sell out of this word.

Enter Berowne.

Ber. O, my good knave Costard, exceedingly well met!

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?

Ber. O, what is a remuneration?

Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

Ber. O, why then three-farthing worth of silk.

Cost. I thank your worship, God be wi’ you!

Ber.

O, stay, slave; I must employ thee.

As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave,

Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

Cost. When would you have it done, sir?

Ber. O, this afternoon.

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well.