text_original: I'll ne'er believe a word they say. 'Tis true, but let it not be known, My eyes are somewhat dimmish grown; For nature, always in the right, To your decays adapts my sight; And wrinkles undistinguished pass, For I'm ashamed to use a glass: And till I see them with these eyes, Whoever says you have them, lies.
text_transcription: I'LL NEAR BELIEVE A WORD THEY SAY TIS TRUE BUT LET IT NOT BE KNOWN MY EYES ARE SOMEWHAT DIMMISH GROWN FOR NATURE ALWAYS IN THE RIGHT TO YOUR DECAYS ADAPTS MY SIGHT AND WRINKLES UNDISTINGUISHED PASS FOR I'M ASHAMED TO USE A CLASS UNTIL I SEE THEM WITH THESE EYES WHOEVER SAYS YOU HAVE THEM LIES
phonemes: aɪl nˈɛɹ bᵻlˈiːv ɐ wˈɜːd ðeɪ sˈeɪ. tˈɪz tɹˈuː, bˌʌt lˈɛt ɪt nˌɑːt biː nˈoʊn, maɪ ˈaɪz ɑːɹ sˈʌmwʌt dˈɪmɪʃ ɡɹˈoʊn; fɔːɹ nˈeɪtʃɚ, ˈɔːlweɪz ɪnðə ɹˈaɪt, tə jʊɹ dᵻkˈeɪz ɐdˈæpts maɪ sˈaɪt; ænd ɹˈɪŋkəlz ʌndɪstˈɪŋɡwɪʃt pˈæs, fɔːɹ aɪm ɐʃˈeɪmd tə jˈuːz ɐ ɡlˈæs: ænd tˈɪl aɪ sˈiː ðˌɛm wɪð ðiːz ˈaɪz, huːˈɛvɚ sˈɛz juː hˈæv ðˌɛm, lˈaɪz.