It's very plain that if a thing's the fashion—        Too much the fashion—if the people leap
     To do it, or to be it, in a passion
       Of haste and crowding, like a herd¹ of sheep,
 
     Why then that thing becomes through imitation
       Vulgar, excessive, obvious, and cheap.
 
     No gentleman desires to be pursuing
 
     What every Tom and Dick and Harry's doing.
 
     Stranger, do you write books? I ask the question,
       Because I'm told that everybody writes
     That what with scribbling², eating, and digestion³,
       And proper slumber⁴, all our days and nights
 
     Are wholly filled. It seems an odd suggestion—
       But if you do write, stop it, leave the masses,
       Read me, and join the small selected classes.