I'm more than half-way through it, and enjoying it immensely (I read a big chunk of it yesterday waiting to see the dental hygienist). I'll agree it's not quite Swift, though better than Peter Pindar or Henry Carey. (I'm in an eighteenth-century sort of mood, after having my mouth assaulted and debating with my {Helleno-American} dentist whether or not Hygiene was a Greek divinity, Gail and I went to see the exhibition of Houdon sculptures at the High; the stern Roman George Washington was a remarkable contrast to the rather merry Ben Franklin, and the Roman Consul Voltaire was extraordinarily avuncular.) Now, for a suitable remuneration, I might be persuaded to compare it favourably to Voltaire, who was no mean satirist.