text_original: But you, who, till your fortune's made, Must be a sweetener by your trade, Should swear he never meant us ill; We suffer sore against his will; That, if we could but see his heart, He would have chose a milder part: We rather should lament his case, Who must obey, or lose his place.
text_transcription: BUT YOU WHO TILL YOUR FORTUNE'S MADE MUST BE A SWEETENER BY YOUR TRADE SHOULD SWEAR HE NEVER MEANT US ILLLL WE SUFFER SORE AGAINST HIS WILL THAT IF WE COULD BUT SEE HIS HEART HE WOULD HAVE CHOSE A MILDER PART WE RATHER SHOULD LAMENT HIS CASE WHO MUST OBEY OR LOSE HIS PLACE
phonemes: bˌʌt juː, hˈuː, tˈɪl jʊɹ fˈɔːɹtʃʊnz mˈeɪd, mˈʌst biː ɐ swˈiːʔn̩ɚ baɪ jʊɹ tɹˈeɪd, ʃˌʊd swˈɛɹ hiː nˈɛvɚ mˈɛnt ˌʌs ˈɪl; wiː sˈʌfɚ sˈɔːɹ ɐɡˈɛnst hɪz wˈɪl; ðˈæt, ɪf wiː kʊd bˌʌt sˈiː hɪz hˈɑːɹt, hiː wʊdhɐv tʃˈoʊz ɐ mˈaɪldɚ pˈɑːɹt: wiː ɹˈæðɚ ʃˌʊd lɐmˈɛnt hɪz kˈeɪs, hˌuː mˈʌst oʊbˈeɪ, ɔːɹ lˈuːz hɪz plˈeɪs.