text_original: STELLA'S BIRTH DAY MARCH 13, 1726 7 This day, whate'er the Fates decree, Shall still be kept with joy by me: This day then let us not be told, That you are sick, and I grown old; Nor think on our approaching ills, And talk of spectacles and pills; To morrow will be time enough To hear such mortifying stuff.
text_transcription: STELLA'S BIRTHDAY MARCH THIRTEENTH SEVENTEEN TWENTY SIX SEVEN THIS DAY WHATE'ER THE FATES DECREE SHALL STILL BE KEPT WITH JOY BY ME THIS DAY THEN LET US NOT BE TOLD THAT YOU ARE SICK AND I GROWN OLD NOR THINK ON OUR APPROACHING ILLS AND TALK OF SPECTACLES AND PILLS TO MORROW WILL BE TIME ENOUGH TO HEAR SUCH MORTIFYING STUFF
phonemes: stˈɛləz bˈɜːθ dˈeɪ mˈɑːɹtʃ θˈɜːtiːn, wˈʌn θˈaʊzənd sˈɛvənhˈʌndɹɪd twˈɛnti sˈɪks sˈɛvən ðɪs dˈeɪ, wˈʌɾɛɹ ðə fˈeɪts dᵻkɹˈiː, ʃˌæl stˈɪl biː kˈɛpt wɪð dʒˈɔɪ baɪ mˌiː: ðɪs dˈeɪ ðˈɛn lˈɛt ˌʌs nˌɑːt biː tˈoʊld, ðæt juː ɑːɹ sˈɪk, ænd aɪ ɡɹˈoʊn ˈoʊld; nˈɔːɹ θˈɪŋk ˌɔn ˌaʊɚɹ ɐpɹˈoʊtʃɪŋ ˈɪlz, ænd tˈɔːk ʌv spˈɛktəkəlz ænd pˈɪlz; tə mˈɑːɹoʊ wɪl biː tˈaɪm ɪnˈʌf tə hˈɪɹ sˈʌtʃ mˈɔːɹɾᵻfˌaɪɪŋ stˈʌf.