text_original: These stories were of old design'd As fables: but you have refined The poets mythologic dreams, To real Muses, gods, and streams. Who would not swear, when you contrive thus, That you're Don Quixote redivivus? Beneath, a dry canal there lies, Which only Winter's rain supplies.
text_transcription: THESE STORIES WERE OF OLD DESIGNED AS FABLES BUT YOU HAVE REFINED THE POET'S MYTHOLOGIC DREAMS TO REAL MUSES GODS AND STREAMS WHO WOULD NOT SWEAR WHEN YOU CONTRIVE THUS THAT YOUR DON QUIXOTE REDIVIVE US BENEATH A DRY CANAL THERE LIES WHICH ONLY WINTER'S RAIN SUPPLIES
phonemes: ðiːz stˈɔːɹiz wɜːɹ ʌv ˈoʊld dɪzˈaɪnd æz fˈeɪbəlz: bˌʌt juː hæv ɹᵻfˈaɪnd ðə pˈoʊɪts mˌɪθəlˈɑːdʒɪk dɹˈiːmz, tə ɹˈiːəl mjˈuːzᵻz, ɡˈɑːdz, ænd stɹˈiːmz. hˌuː wʊd nˌɑːt swˈɛɹ, wˌɛn juː kəntɹˈaɪv ðˈʌs, ðæt jʊɹ dˈɑːn kiːhˈoʊɾeɪ ɹᵻdˈɪvɪvəs? bᵻnˈiːθ, ɐ dɹˈaɪ kənˈæl ðɛɹ lˈaɪz, wˌɪtʃ ˈoʊnli wˈɪntɚz ɹˈeɪn səplˈaɪz.