text_original: Picking up a bottle, the General poured out generous helpings in two of the glasses, and handed one to me. "The mists are bad, Davy," said he; "I  I cannot afford to get the fever now. Let us drink success to the army of the glorious Republic, France."
text_transcription: PICKING UP A BOTTLE THE GENERAL POURED OUT GENEROUS HELPINGS IN TWO OF THE GLASSES AND HANDED ONE TO ME THE MISTS ARE BAD DAVY SAID HE I CANNOT AFFORD TO GET THE FEVER NOW LET US DRINK TO THE SUCCESS OF THE ARMY OF THE GLORIOUS REPUBLIC FRANCE
phonemes: pˈɪkɪŋ ˌʌp ɐ bˈɑːɾəl, ðə dʒˈɛnɚɹəl pˈɔːɹd ˈaʊt dʒˈɛnɚɹəs hˈɛlpɪŋz ɪn tˈuː ʌvðə ɡlˈæsᵻz, ænd hˈændᵻd wˈʌn tə mˌiː. "ðə mˈɪsts ɑːɹ bˈæd, dˈeɪvi," sˈɛd hiː; "aɪ aɪ kænˈɑːt ɐfˈɔːɹd tə ɡɛt ðə fˈiːvɚ nˈaʊ. lˈɛt ˌʌs dɹˈɪŋk səksˈɛs tə ðɪ ˈɑːɹmi ʌvðə ɡlˈɔːɹiəs ɹᵻpˈʌblɪk, fɹˈæns."