text_original: "Come on, then, work up an appetite," rejoined Neale. "Shure I'll die.... An' I'd loike to ask, beggin' ye're pardon, hevn't ye got some Irish in ye?" "Yes, a little." "I knowed thot.... All roight, I'll die with ye, thin." In half an hour Pat was in despair again. He had to rest.
text_transcription: COME ON THEN WORK UP AN APPETITE REJOINED NEIL SURE I'LL DIE AND I'LL LIKE TO ASK BEGGING YOUR PARDON HAVEN'T YOU GOT SOME IRISH IN YES A LITTLE I KNOW DAT ALL RIGHT I'LL DIE WITH YOU THEN IN HALF AN HOUR PAT WAS IN DESPAIR AGAIN HE HAD TO REST
phonemes: "kˈʌm ˈɔn, ðˈɛn, wˈɜːk ˌʌp ɐn ˈæpɪtˌaɪt," ɹᵻdʒˈɔɪnd nˈiːl. "ʃjˈʊɹ aɪl dˈaɪ.... æn aɪd lˈɔɪk tʊ ˈæsk, bˈɛɡɪn jˌiːɚ pˈɑːɹdən, hˈɛvənt jiː ɡɑːt sˌʌm ˈaɪɹɪʃ ɪn jˈiː?" "jˈɛs, ɐ lˈɪɾəl." "aɪ nˈoʊd θˈɑːt.... ˈɔːl ɹˈɔɪt, aɪl dˈaɪ wɪð jˈiː, θˈɪn." ɪn hˈæf ɐn ˈaʊɚ pˈæt wʌz ɪn dᵻspˈɛɹ ɐɡˈɛn. hiː hædtə ɹˈɛst.