text_original: "You'll no set tooth in the Frenchies," the pessimistic McAndrew put in, "wi' five thousand redskins aboot, and they lying in wait. The Colonel's no vera mindful of that, I'm thinking." "Will ye hush, ye ill omened hound!" cried Cowan, angrily. "Pitch him in the crick, Mac!"
text_transcription: YE'LL NO SET TOOTH IN THE FRENCHES THE PESSIMISTIC MAC ANDREW PUT IN WE'VE FIVE THOUSAND REDSKINS ABOUT AND THEY'RE LYING IN WAIT THE COLONEL'S NO VERY MINDFUL OF DAT I'M TAKEN REAL YE HUSH YEH ILL OMENED HOUND CRIED COWAN ANGRILY FETCH HIM IN THE CRICK MAC
phonemes: "juːl nˈoʊ sˈɛt tˈuːθ ɪnðə fɹˈɛntʃiz," ðə pˌɛsɪmˈɪstɪk mək ˈændɹuː pˌʊt ˈɪn, "wˈaɪ fˈaɪv θˈaʊzənd ɹˈɛdskɪnz ɐbˈuːt, ænd ðeɪ lˈaɪɪŋ ɪn wˈeɪt. ðə kˈɜːnəlz nˈoʊ vˈiəɹə mˈaɪndfəl ʌv ðˈæt, aɪm θˈɪŋkɪŋ." "wɪl jiː hˈʌʃ, jiː ˈɪl ˈoʊmɛnd hˈaʊnd!" kɹˈaɪd kˈaʊən, ˈæŋɡɹili. "pˈɪtʃ hˌɪm ɪnðə kɹˈɪk, mˈæk!"