text_original: However, I wish, honest comrade of mine, You would really on Thursday leave St. Catharine,[1] Where I hear you are cramm'd every day like a swine; With me you'll no more have a stomach to dine, Nor after your victuals lie sleeping supine; So I wish you were toothless, like Lord Masserine.
text_transcription: HOWEVER I WISH HONEST COMRADE OF MINE YOU WOULD REALLY ON THURSDAY LEAVE SAINT CATHARINE WHERE I HEAR YOU ARE CRAMMED EVERY DAY LIKE A SWINE WITH ME YOU'LL NO MORE HAVE A STOMACH TO DINE NOR AFTER YOUR VICTUALS LIE SLEEPING SUPINE SO I WISH YOU WERE TOOTHLESS LIKE LORD MAZARINE
phonemes: haʊˈɛvɚ, aɪ wˈɪʃ, ˈɑːnɪst kˈɑːmɹæd ʌv mˈaɪn, juː wʊd ɹˈiəli ˌɔn θˈɜːzdeɪ lˈiːv sənt. kˈæθɑːɹɹˌiːn,[wˈʌn] wˌɛɹ aɪ hˈɪɹ juː ɑːɹ kɹˈæmd ˈɛvɹi dˈeɪ lˈaɪk ɐ swˈaɪn; wɪð mˌiː juːl nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ hæv ɐ stˈʌmək tə dˈaɪn, nˈɔːɹ ˈæftɚ jʊɹ vˈɪktʃuːəlz lˈaɪ slˈiːpɪŋ sˈuːpaɪn; sˌoʊ aɪ wˈɪʃ juː wɜː tˈuːθləs, lˈaɪk lˈɔːɹd mˈæsɚɹˌiːn.