The fortnight was now over, the morning came at last,
The rising dawn, was ushered with snow, and biting blast,
As on the Fifteen Acres, all in the Phœnix Park,
The duellists were waiting the Arab steeds, when, hark!
They heard a distant braying, as 'twere a trump of brass,
'Twas followed by a donkey, and then a second ass,
Came guided by his halter, unto the fated spot,
Said Pat O'Byrne and O'Gorman, "O, powdhers, this is rot!"
But yet a queen of beauty was their's the prize to win.