text_original: THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S TO THOMAS SHERIDAN SIR, I cannot but think that we live in a bad age, _O tempora, O mores!_ as 'tis in the adage. My foot was but just set out from my cathedral, When into my hands comes a letter from the droll. I can't pray in quiet for you and your verses; But now let us hear what the Muse from your car says. Hum  excellent good  your anger was stirr'd; Well, punners and rhymers must have the last word.
text_transcription: THE DEAN OF SAINT PATRICK'S TO THOMAS SHERIDAN SIR I CANNOT BUT THINK THAT WE LIVE IN A BAD AGE O TEMPORA O MORAS AS TIS IN THE ADAGE MY FOOT WAS BUT JUST SET OUT FROM MY CATHEDRAL WHEN INTO MY HANDS COMES A LETTER FROM CATHEDRAL I CAN'T PRAY IN QUIET FOR YOU AND YOUR VERSES BUT NOW LET US HEAR WHAT THE MUSE FROM YOUR CAR SAYS OM EXCELLENT GOOD YOUR ANGER WAS STIRRED WHILE PUNNERS AND RHYMERS MUST HAVE THE LAST WORD
phonemes: ðə dˈiːn ʌv sənt. pˈætɹɪks tuː tˈɑːməs ʃˈɛɹɪdən sˌɜː, aɪ kænˈɑːt bˌʌt θˈɪŋk ðæt wiː lˈɪv ɪn ɐ bˈæd ˈeɪdʒ, ˈoʊ tˈɛmpɔːɹə, ˈoʊ mˈɔːɹz!æz tˈɪz ɪnðɪ ˈædɪdʒ. maɪ fˈʊt wʌz bˌʌt dʒˈʌst sˈɛt ˈaʊt fɹʌm maɪ kɐθˈiːdɹəl, wˌɛn ˌɪntʊ maɪ hˈændz kˈʌmz ɐ lˈɛɾɚ fɹʌmðə dɹˈoʊl. aɪ kˈænt pɹˈeɪ ɪn kwˈaɪət fɔːɹ juː ænd jʊɹ vˈɜːsᵻz; bˌʌt nˈaʊ lˈɛt ˌʌs hˈɪɹ wʌt ðə mjˈuːz fɹʌm jʊɹ kˈɑːɹ sˈɛz. hˈʌm ˈɛksələnt ɡˈʊd jʊɹ ˈæŋɡɚ wʌz stˈɜːd; wˈɛl, pˈʌnɚz ænd ɹˈaɪmɚz mˈʌstɐv ðə lˈæst wˈɜːd.