text_original: ] A TALE OF A NETTLE[1] A man with expense and infinite toil, By digging and dunging, ennobled his soil; There fruits of the best your taste did invite, And uniform order still courted the sight. No degenerate weeds the rich ground did produce, But all things afforded both beauty and use: Till from dunghill transplanted, while yet but a seed, A nettle rear'd up his inglorious head.
text_transcription: G A TALE OF A NETTLE A MAN WITH EXPENSE AND INFINITE TOIL BY DIGGING AND DUNGING ENNOBLED HIS SOIL THEIR FRUITS OF THE BEST YOUR TASTE DID INVITE AND UNIFORM ORDER STILL QUARTERED THE SIGHT NO DEGENERATE WEEDS THE RICH GROUND DID PRODUCE BUT ALL THINGS AFFORDED BOTH BEAUTY AND USE TILL FROM DUNGHILL TRANSPLANTED WHILE YET BUT A SAID A NETTLE REARED UP HIS INGLORIOUS HEAD
phonemes: ] ɐ tˈeɪl əvə nˈɛɾəl[wˈʌn] ɐ mˈæn wɪð ɛkspˈɛns ænd ˈɪnfɪnət tˈɔɪl, baɪ dˈɪɡɪŋ ænd dˈʌndʒɪŋ, ɛnˈoʊbəld hɪz sˈɔɪl; ðɛɹ fɹˈuːts ʌvðə bˈɛst jʊɹ tˈeɪst dˈɪd ɪnvˈaɪt, ænd jˈuːnɪfˌɔːɹm ˈɔːɹdɚ stˈɪl kˈɔːɹɾᵻd ðə sˈaɪt. nˈoʊ dᵻdʒˈɛnɚɹˌeɪt wˈiːdz ðə ɹˈɪtʃ ɡɹˈaʊnd dˈɪd pɹədˈuːs, bˌʌt ˈɔːl θˈɪŋz ɐfˈɔːɹdᵻd bˈoʊθ bjˈuːɾi ænd jˈuːs: tˈɪl fɹʌm dˈʌŋhɪl tɹænsplˈæntᵻd, wˌaɪl jˈɛt bˌʌt ɐ sˈiːd, ɐ nˈɛɾəl ɹˈɪɹd ˌʌp hɪz ɪŋɡlˈɔːɹiəs hˈɛd.