The poem
Happiness, a-roving round For a sweet abiding place, In a stately palace found Symmetry and gilded grace; Courtliness and table cheer, All that chimes with evening dress . . . "I could never stick it here," Swift decided Happiness.
Happiness a-seeking still, In a mansion of the town, Comfort-crammed to overspill, Sought in vain to settle down. Every nook strained to express Opulent prosperity . . . But "Alas!" said Happiness, "This is not my cup of tea."
In a cottage by the sea, Most monastically bare, Happiness peered wistfully, And he spied me waiting there. "Stay," said I: "No need to roam; Though no riches I possess, Squat and make yourself at home. . . ." "Say, that's swell!" said Happiness.