text_original: You had best hap yourself up in a chair, and dine with me than with the provost. LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW[1] IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE AT KILMORE Resolve me this, ye happy dead, Who've lain some hundred years in bed, From every persecution free That in this wretched life we see; Would ye resume a second birth, And choose once more to live on earth?
text_transcription: YOU HAD BEST HAP YOURSELF UP IN A CHAIR AND DINE WITH ME THAN WITH THE PROVOST LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE AT KILMOUR RESOLVE ME THIS YE HAPPY DEAD WHO'VE LAIN SOME HUNDRED YEARS IN BED FROM EVERY PERSECUTION FREE THAT IN THIS WRETCHED LIFE WE SEE WOULD YE RESUME A SECOND BIRTH AND CHOOSE ONCE MORE TO LIVE ON EARTH
phonemes: juː hæd bˈɛst hˈæp jɔːɹsˈɛlf ˌʌp ɪn ɐ tʃˈɛɹ, ænd dˈaɪn wɪð mˌiː ðɐn wɪððə pɹˈɑːvɑːst. lˈaɪnz ɹˈɪʔn̩ ˌɔn ɐ wˈɪndoʊ[wˈʌn] ɪnðɪ ᵻpˈɪskɑːpəl pˈælɪs æt kɪlmˈɔːɹ ɹᵻzˈɑːlv mˌiː ðˈɪs, jiː hˈæpi dˈɛd, hˌuːəv lˈeɪn sˌʌm hˈʌndɹɪd jˈɪɹz ɪn bˈɛd, fɹʌm ˈɛvɹi pˌɜːsɪkjˈuːʃən fɹˈiː ðæt ɪn ðɪs ɹˈɛtʃᵻd lˈaɪf wiː sˈiː; wʊd jiː ɹᵻzˈuːm ɐ sˈɛkənd bˈɜːθ, ænd tʃˈuːz wˈʌns mˈɔːɹ tə lˈɪv ˌɔn ˈɜːθ?