TOWZER DISCOVERED: OR A New Ballad ON AN OLD DOG That Writes Strange-Lee.  
To the Tune of Oh how unhappy a Lover am I  

HOW unhappy a Mastiff am I,  
to have all the Dogs of Renown,  
Scratching their Tails and biting their Nails  
for madness that I am in Town.   

At Towzer they daily do bark,  
A Towzer, a Towzer they cry;  
Both the Commons and Peers would all shake my Ears,  
I hardly know where to lie.   

Poor Towzer they maul with Eggs,  
And threaten him in every Street:  
Let me die like a Dog if I know where to jog:  
For I fear even all that I meet.   

I dare not walk out by day;  
They set Dogs on the Observator:  
If I walk in the Street, I fear all I meet,  
But the Papists and my Creator.   

The Papists will do me no harm,  
My Creator will do me no good.  
I'm a Son of a Bitch if I have not an Itch  
To lick up the Protestant Blood.   

That will make a Popish Cur fat,  
And Towzer is such an one.  
Oh the Times will be well, when my Belly doth swell,  
With picking a Protestant Bone.   

The Commons made Towzer run,  
And hang out his Tongue for Breath;  
But I crept in a Room with the Old Widow B— m,  
And so was I freed from Death.   

But well may I prick up my Ears,  
My Sorrows are now at an End;  
The Tantivy Race will save my Dog's Face:  
For they fancy that I am their Friend.   

And now I'm a Whelp of Fame,  
And may boldly Caper in Town:  
For Towzer is hid (Oh God forbid)  
And under a Reverend Gown.   

Now Towzer may bark at the best,  
And be a most impudent Cur▪  
In a Loyal Disguise he broaches his Lies,  
And makes a most damnable stir.   

Holy Crape doth clap him o'th' Back,  
And in Towzer doth take Delight;  
But he little doth dread, that in time of need  
For the Papists Old Towzer will fight.   

Silly Crape, now open thine Eye,  
Like Lynceus look within▪  
For surely thou'rt blind, if thou dost not find  
Popish Flesh in a Protestant Skin.   

Now he doth bark for Crape;  
But anon he will bite for Pope:  
I'll be judged by you, if he had his due,  
If he doth not merit a Rope.   

He divides the King and his Flock,  
The Shepherd from harmless Sheep;  
And yet he pretends, that he's their best Friend;  
Oh, who can forbear to weep?   

But heavens preserve our King  
From such as do use Deceit▪  
I wish they may swing like a Dog in a String,  
And I hope I don't wish it too late.   

Poor England shall then be at rest,  
And the King shall most happily Reign:  
Our Joy and our Peace shall never more cease  
When every such Towzer is slain.    

LONDON Printed for J. B. 1683.