[Exit Moth.]
COSTARD.
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.
BEROWNE.
My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met.
COSTARD.
Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration?
BEROWNE.
What is a remuneration?
COSTARD.
Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.
BEROWNE.
Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.
COSTARD.
I thank your worship. God be wi’ you.
BEROWNE.
Stay, slave. I must employ thee.
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.