text_original: And as for trie tragic effects of its magic, Which you say it can kill, or revive at its will, The dead are all sound, and they live above ground: After all you have writ, it cannot be wit; Which plainly does follow, since it flies from Apollo. Its cowardice such it cries at a touch; 'Tis a perfect milksop, grows drunk with a drop, Another great fault, it cannot bear salt: And a hair can disarm it of every charm.
text_transcription: AND AS FOR TRY TRAGIC EFFECTS OF ITS MAGIC WHICH YOU SAY IT CAN KILL OR REVIVE AT ITS WILL THE DEAD ARE ALL SOUND AND THEY LIVE ABOVE GROUND AFTER ALL YOU HAVE WRIT IT CANNOT BE WIT WHICH PLAINLY DOES FOLLOW SINCE IT FLIES FROM APOLLO ITS COWARDICE SUCH IT CRIES AT A TOUCH TIS A PERFECT MILK SOP GROWS DRUNK WITH A DROP ANOTHER GREAT FAULT IT CANNOT BEAR SALT AND A HAIR CAN DISARM IT OF EVERY CHARM
phonemes: ænd æz fɔːɹ tɹˈaɪ tɹˈædʒɪk ɪfˈɛkts ʌv ɪts mˈædʒɪk, wˌɪtʃ juː sˈeɪ ɪt kæn kˈɪl, ɔːɹ ɹᵻvˈaɪv æɾ ɪts wˈɪl, ðə dˈɛd ɑːɹ ˈɔːl sˈaʊnd, ænd ðeɪ lˈɪv əbˌʌv ɡɹˈaʊnd: ˈæftɚɹ ˈɔːl juː hæv ɹˈɪt, ɪt kænˈɑːt biː wˈɪt; wˌɪtʃ plˈeɪnli dˈʌz fˈɑːloʊ, sˈɪns ɪt flˈaɪz fɹʌm ɐpˈɑːloʊ. ɪts kˈaʊɚdɪs sˈʌtʃ ɪt kɹˈaɪz æɾə tˈʌtʃ; tˈɪz ɐ pˈɜːfɛkt mˈɪlksəp, ɡɹˈoʊz dɹˈʌŋk wɪð ɐ dɹˈɑːp, ɐnˈʌðɚ ɡɹˈeɪt fˈɔlt, ɪt kænˈɑːt bˈɛɹ sˈɔlt: ænd ɐ hˈɛɹ kæn dɪsˈɑːɹm ɪɾ ʌv ˈɛvɹi tʃˈɑːɹm.