text_original: Ah, bumpers, I see that our wine is all done, Our mirth falls of course, when our Bacchus is gone. Then since it is so, bring me here a supply; Begone, froward wife, for I'll drink till I die.
text_transcription: AH BUMPERS I SEE THAT OUR WINE IS ALL DONE OUR MIRTH FALLS OF COURSE WHEN OUR BACCHUS IS GONE THEN SINCE IT IS SO BRING ME HERE A SUPPLY BE GONE FROWERED WIFE FOR I'LL DRINK TILL I DIE
phonemes: ˈɑː, bˈʌmpɚz, aɪ sˈiː ðæt ˌaʊɚ wˈaɪn ɪz ˈɔːl dˈʌn, ˌaʊɚ mˈɜːθ fˈɔːlz ʌv kˈɔːɹs, wˌɛn ˌaʊɚ bˈækəs ɪz ɡˈɔn. ðˈɛn sˈɪns ɪɾ ɪz sˈoʊ, bɹˈɪŋ mˌiː hˈɪɹ ɐ səplˈaɪ; bᵻɡˈɑːn, fɹˈaʊɚd wˈaɪf, fɔːɹ aɪl dɹˈɪŋk tˈɪl aɪ dˈaɪ.