Give me a nice little four-roomed house

I've been in lots of mansions up the West End,
Where costly pictures hanging on the wall.
The carpets that they walk on come from Persia,
They've lots of powdered flunkeys at their call.
Now, what I want to know is, are they happy
Midst all this fine and beautiful array?
Amongst these brilliant scenes, do they know what comfort means?
There's very little comfort in display.
And now my idea of happiness may not suit ev'ryone
Still, money takes a backseat, after all is said and done.

Give me a nice little four-roomed house, with a nice green garden at the back
I don't pine for luxury, plain home comforts are good enough for me.
I don't want any marble halls, with pictures framed in gilt,
I never roam, for I class my home with the finest mansion ever built. [twice]

I've got my parlour carpeted with oilcloth,
It's cleaner than the Brussels up the West. 
I never hold "At homes" or social parties,—
I like to smoke my pipe and have a rest. 
I never have to advertise for servants;
The housework's done entirely by the wife.
I never mind the noise of my little girls and boys,
For they're the purest treasures of my life.
I never leave them lonely in an upstairs nursery ;
It fills my heart with joy to see them romping round my knee,
So - 

I've got no chandeliers upon the ceiling;
Our gas is worked by pennies in the slot.
I have no grand conservat'ry or grape-vines,
But I've a fine geranium in a pot.
My silver plate's the good old willow pattern,
So burglars never care to trouble me.
A house like mine they dodge, it's no Villa or a Lodge,—
The postman knows my place as "33."
I've got no classy pictures, such as angels on the wing,
But I've got my old mother, and the photo of our King.
Then -