text_original: And though no marriage words are spoke, They part not till the ring is broke; Yet hypocrite fanatics cry, I'm but an idol raised on high; And once a weaver in our town, A damn'd Cromwellian, knock'd me down. I lay a prisoner twenty years, And then the jovial cavaliers To their old post restored all three   I mean the church, the king, and me.
text_transcription: AND THOUGH NO MARRIAGE WORDS ARE SPOKE THEY PART NOT TILL THE RING IS BROKE YET HYPOCRITE FANATICS CRY I'M BUT AN IDOL RAISED ON HIGH AND ONCE A WEAVER IN OUR TOWN A DAMNED CROMWELLION KNOCKED ME DOWN I LAY A PRISONER TWENTY YEARS AND THEN THE JOVIAL CAVALIERS TO THEIR OLD POST RESTORED ALL THREE I MEAN THE CHURCH THE KING AND ME
phonemes: ænd ðˌoʊ nˈoʊ mˈæɹɪdʒ wˈɜːdz ɑːɹ spˈoʊk, ðeɪ pˈɑːɹt nˌɑːt tˈɪl ðə ɹˈɪŋ ɪz bɹˈoʊk; jˈɛt hˈɪpəkɹˌɪt fɐnˈæɾɪks kɹˈaɪ, aɪm bˌʌt ɐn ˈaɪdəl ɹˈeɪzd ˌɔn hˈaɪ; ænd wˈʌns ɐ wˈiːvɚɹ ɪn ˌaʊɚ tˈaʊn, ɐ dˈæmd kɹəmwˈɛliən, nˈɑːkd mˌiː dˈaʊn. aɪ lˈeɪ ɐ pɹˈɪzənɚ twˈɛnti jˈɪɹz, ænd ðˈɛn ðə dʒˈoʊvɪəl kˌævɐlˈɪɹz tə ðɛɹ ˈoʊld pˈoʊst ɹᵻstˈɔːɹd ˈɔːl θɹˈiː aɪ mˈiːn ðə tʃˈɜːtʃ, ðə kˈɪŋ, ænd mˌiː.