text_original: "I'll teach you to empty your stinkpots on me," cried she, "you pitiful hop o' my thumb coxcomb. What, I warrant you're jealous, you man of lath. Was it for this I condescended to take you to my bed, you poor, withered, sapless twig?"
text_transcription: I'LL TEACH YOU TO EMPTY YOUR STINK POTS ON ME CRIED SHE YOU PITIFUL HOP ON MY THUMB COXCOMB WHAT I WARRANT YOU'RE JEALOUS YOU MAN OF LAITH WAS IT FOR THIS I CONDESCENDED TO TAKE YOU TO MY BED YOU POOR WITHERED SAPLESS TWIG
phonemes: "aɪl tˈiːtʃ juː tʊ ˈɛmpti jʊɹ stˈɪŋkpɑːts ˈɔn mˌiː," kɹˈaɪd ʃiː, "juː pˈɪɾifəl hˈɑːp ˈoʊ maɪ θˈʌm kˈɑːkskoʊm. wˌʌt, aɪ wˈɔːɹənt jʊɹ dʒˈɛləs, juː mˈæn ʌv lˈæθ. wʌz ɪt fɔːɹ ðɪs aɪ kˌɑːndᵻsˈɛndᵻd tə tˈeɪk juː tə maɪ bˈɛd, juː pˈʊɹ, wˈɪðɚd, sˈæpləs twˈɪɡ?"