text_original: Dear Pallas, I have been this morn To see a lovely infant born: A boy in yonder isle below, So like my own without his bow, By beauty could your heart be won, You'd swear it is Apollo's son; But it shall ne'er be said, a child So hopeful, has by me been spoil'd: I have enough besides to spare, And give him wholly to your care.
text_transcription: DEAR PALACE I HAVE BEEN THIS MORN TO SEE A LOVELY INFANT BORN A BOY IN YONDER ISLE BELOW SO LIKE MY OWN WITHOUT HIS BOW MY BEAUTY COULD YOUR HEART BE WON YOU'D SWEAR IT IS APOLLO'S SON BUT IT SHALL NE'ER BE SAID A CHILD SO HOPEFUL HAS BY ME BEEN SPOILED I HAVE ENOUGH BESIDES TO SPARE AND GIVE HIM WHOLLY TO YOUR CARE
phonemes: dˈɪɹ pˈæləs, aɪ hɐvbɪn ðɪs mˈɔːɹn tə sˈiː ɐ lˈʌvli ˈɪnfənt bˈɔːɹn: ɐ bˈɔɪ ɪn jˈɑːndɚɹ ˈaɪəl bᵻlˈoʊ, sˌoʊ lˈaɪk maɪ ˈoʊn wɪðˌaʊt hɪz bˈoʊ, baɪ bjˈuːɾi kʊd jʊɹ hˈɑːɹt biː wˈʌn, juːd swˈɛɹ ɪɾ ɪz ɐpˈɑːloʊz sˈʌn; bˌʌt ɪt ʃˌæl nˈɛɹ biː sˈɛd, ɐ tʃˈaɪld sˌoʊ hˈoʊpfəl, hɐz baɪ mˌiː bˌɪn spˈɔɪld: aɪ hæv ɪnˈʌf bᵻsˌaɪdz tə spˈɛɹ, ænd ɡˈɪv hˌɪm hˈoʊli tə jʊɹ kˈɛɹ.