It will leave me just sixty sounds eggs to be hatched.
Well, sixty sound eggs—no, sound chickens I mean:
Of these some may die—we’ll suppose seventeen;
Seventeen, not so many!—say ten at the most,
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.
But then there’s their barley, how much will they need?
Why, they take but one grain at a time when they feed,
So that’s a mere trifle;—now then, let me see,
At a fair market-price how much money there’ll be.
Six shillings a pair, five, four, three-and-six,