text_original: PATRICK'S IN ANSWER TO HIS LEFT HANDED LETTER Since your poetic prancer is turn'd into Cancer, I'll tell you at once, sir, I'm now not your man, sir; For pray, sir, what pleasure in fighting is found With a coward, who studies to traverse his ground?
text_transcription: PATRICK'S IN ANSWER TO HIS LEFT HANDED LETTER SINCE YOUR POETIC PRANCER IS TURNED INTO CANCER I'LL TELL YOU AT ONCE SIR I'M NOW NOT YOUR MAN SIR FOR PRAY SIR WHAT PLEASURE IN FIGHTING IS FOUND WITH A COWARD WHO STUDIES TO TRAVERSE HIS GROUND
phonemes: pˈætɹɪks ɪn ˈænsɚ tuː hɪz lˈɛft hˈændᵻd lˈɛɾɚ sˈɪns jʊɹ poʊˈɛɾɪk pɹˈænsɚɹ ɪz tˈɜːnd ˌɪntʊ kˈænsɚ, aɪl tˈɛl juː ɐtwˈʌns, sˌɜː, aɪm nˈaʊ nˌɑːt jʊɹ mˈæn, sˌɜː; fɔːɹ pɹˈeɪ, sˌɜː, wˌʌt plˈɛʒɚɹ ɪn fˈaɪɾɪŋ ɪz fˈaʊnd wɪð ɐ kˈaʊɚd, hˌuː stˈʌdiz tə tɹɐvˈɜːs hɪz ɡɹˈaʊnd?