When of splendid machinery there's a display.
Some clouds from the stage unexpectedly rise,
While a sort of pavilion descends from the flies;
But somehow or other, it seems, in the air,
Their machine always is out of repair;
The clouds make a hitch, and refuse to expand,
Or the flying pavilion is brought to a stand.
The obstacle soon is surmounted, when straight
A fairy appears—the expounder of fate.
She bids the fair lady abandon her gloom,