text_original: This world he cumber'd long enough; He burnt his candle to the snuff; And that's the reason, some folks think, He left behind so great a stink. Behold his funeral appears, Nor widows' sighs, nor orphans' tears, Wont at such times each heart to pierce, Attend the progress of his hearse.
text_transcription: THIS WORLD HE CUMBER'D LONG ENOUGH HE BURNT HIS CANDLE TO THE SNUFF AND THAT'S THE REASON SOME FOLKS THINK HE LEFT BEHIND SO GREAT A STINK BEHOLD HIS FUNERAL APPEARS NOR WIDOW'S SIZE NOR ORPHAN'S TEARS WONT AT SUCH TIMES EACH HEART TO PIERCE ATTEND THE PROGRESS OF HIS HEARSE
phonemes: ðɪs wˈɜːld hiː kˈʌmbɚd lˈɔŋ ɪnˈʌf; hiː bˈɜːnt hɪz kˈændəl tə ðə snˈʌf; ænd ðæts ðə ɹˈiːzən, sˌʌm fˈoʊks θˈɪŋk, hiː lˈɛft bᵻhˌaɪnd sˌoʊ ɡɹˈeɪt ɐ stˈɪŋk. bᵻhˈoʊld hɪz fjˈuːnɚɹəl ɐpˈɪɹz, nˈɔːɹ wˈɪdoʊz sˈaɪz, nˈɔːɹ ˈɔːɹfənz tˈɪɹz, wˈɔnt æt sˈʌtʃ tˈaɪmz ˈiːtʃ hˈɑːɹt tə pˈɪɹs, ɐtˈɛnd ðə pɹˈɑːɡɹɛs ʌv hɪz hˈɜːs.