Now half-a-dozen more little pauper princelings and decadent dukelings are trying to trade their worthless coronets for American cash.
1900, Grant Allen, chapter 1, in Linnet:
As for Will Deverill, less critical of Nature’s handicraft, he found the inns over-civilised; the Post and the Bräu were too fine for his taste: they had come thus far in search of solitude and Alpine wilds, and they lighted instead on a sort of miniature Grindelwald, with half-a-dozen inns, a respectable café, experienced (or in other words extortionate) guides, and a regular tourist-trap for the sale of chamois-horns and carved models of châlets.
1903, Samuel Butler, chapter 41, in The Way of All Flesh:
Theobald spoke as if watches had half-a-dozen purposes besides time-keeping, but he could hardly open his mouth without using one or other of his tags, and "answering every purpose" was one of them.
1925, Geoffrey Pomeroy Dennis, Harvest in Poland:
There were about half-a-dozen of them; Lane, the rowing blue, and a swine I know in Magdalen, and a couple of toothbrushless Taffies […]
1969, Vladimir Nabokov, chapter 30, in Ada, or, Ardor: A Family Chronicle, Harmondsworth, London: Penguin Books, published 1970, →ISBN, part 1, page 144: