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Jonathan Swift - On An Ill-Managed House
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LET me thy properties explain:  
A rotten cabin dropping rain:  
Chimneys, with scorn rejecting smoke;  
Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke.  
Here elements have lost their uses,          
Air ripens not, nor earth produces:  
In vain we make poor Sheelah toil,  
Fire will not roast, nor water boil.  
Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,  
The Goddess Want, in triumph reigns:          
And her chief officers of state,  
Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.
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