text_original: What though by enemies 'tis said, The laurel, which adorns thy head, Must one day come in competition, By virtue of some sly petition: Yet mum for that; hope still the best, Nor let such cares disturb thy rest.
text_transcription: WHAT THOUGH BY ENEMIES TIS SAID THE LAUREL WHICH ADORNS THY HEAD MUST ONE DAY COME IN COMPETITION BY VIRTUE OF SOME SLY PETITION YET MUM FOR THAT HOPE STILL THE BEST NOR LET SUCH CARES DISTURB THY REST
phonemes: wˌʌt ðˌoʊ baɪ ˈɛnəmiz tˈɪz sˈɛd, ðə lˈɔːɹəl, wˌɪtʃ ɐdˈɔːɹnz ðˌaɪ hˈɛd, mˈʌst wˈʌn dˈeɪ kˈʌm ɪn kˌɑːmpətˈɪʃən, baɪ vˈɜːtʃuː ʌv sˌʌm slˈaɪ pətˈɪʃən: jˈɛt mˈʌm fɔːɹ ðˈæt; hˈoʊp stˈɪl ðə bˈɛst, nˈɔːɹ lˈɛt sˈʌtʃ kˈɛɹz dɪstˈɜːb ðˌaɪ ɹˈɛst.