It's finally 'to-morrow':
1
I've sworn off unhelpful vice;
No cigarettes, no sorrow,
Champagne liquor, shooting dice—
Shall I require a tickle
5
In the belly, blood, or brains?
From some ale? tea? Feast mickle
Unearn'd by work less good gains.
Sweet bees drown'd in sweet water;
9
Campfire comfort combusts wood.
Lead bad habits to slaughter:
Leave but stubbornest up-stood.
Pray lest ye whinge! salute; kneel!
13
Heed thy master's call to heel!