text_original: "Come on, ye pack of Rebel cutthroats!" yelled a man on the wall. He was answered by a torrent of imprecations. And so they flung it back and forth until nightfall, when out comes the same faded scarlet officer, holding a letter in his hand, and marches down the street to Monsieur Bouton's.
text_transcription: COME ON YE PACK OF REBEL CUT THROATS YELLED A MAN ON THE WALL HE WAS ANSWERED BY A TORRENT OF IMPRECATIONS AND SO THEY FLUNG IT BACK AND FORTH UNTIL NIGHTFALL WHEN OUT COMES THE SAME FADED SCARLET OFFICER HOLDING A LETTER IN HIS HAND AND MARCHES DOWN THE STREET TO MONSIEUR BOTTON'S
phonemes: "kˈʌm ˈɔn, jiː pˈæk ʌv ɹˈɛbəl kˈʌtθɹoʊts!" jˈɛld ɐ mˈæn ɔnðə wˈɔːl. hiː wʌz ˈænsɚd baɪ ɐ tˈɔɹənt ʌv ɪmpɹɪkˈeɪʃənz. ænd sˌoʊ ðeɪ flˈʌŋ ɪt bˈæk ænd fˈɔːɹθ ʌntˈɪl nˈaɪtfɔːl, wˌɛn ˈaʊt kˈʌmz ðə sˈeɪm fˈeɪdᵻd skˈɑːɹlɪt ˈɑːfɪsɚ, hˈoʊldɪŋ ɐ lˈɛɾɚɹ ɪn hɪz hˈænd, ænd mˈɑːɹtʃᵻz dˌaʊn ðə stɹˈiːt tə məsjˈɜː bˈaʊtənz.