text_original: A pain which every happy night You cure with ease and with delight; With pleasure, as the poet sings, Too great for mortals less than kings.
text_transcription: A PAIN WHICH EVERY HAPPY NIGHT YOU CURE WITH EASE AND WITH DELIGHT WITH PLEASURE AS THE POET SINGS TOO GREAT FOR MORTALS LESS THAN KINGS
phonemes: ɐ pˈeɪn wˌɪtʃ ˈɛvɹi hˈæpi nˈaɪt juː kjˈʊɹ wɪð ˈiːz ænd wɪð dᵻlˈaɪt; wɪð plˈɛʒɚ, æz ðə pˈoʊɪt sˈɪŋz, tˈuː ɡɹˈeɪt fɔːɹ mˈɔːɹɾəlz lˈɛs ðɐn kˈɪŋz.