text_original: 'Tis true, because the God of Wit To get him in that shape thought fit, He'll have some glowworm sparks of it. Venture you may to turn him loose, But let it be to another goose. The time will come, the fatal time, When he shall dare a swan to rhyme; The tow'ring swan comes sousing down, And breaks his pinions, cracks his crown.
text_transcription: TIS TRUE BECAUSE THE GOD OF WIT TO GET HIM IN THAT SHAPE THOUGHT FIT VENTURE YOU MAY TO TURN HIM LOOSE BUT LET IT BE TO ANOTHER GOOSE THE TIME WILL COME THE FATAL TIME WHEN HE SHALL DARE A SWAN TO RHYME THE TOWERING SWAN COMES SOUSING DOWN AND BREAKS HIS PINIONS CRACKS HIS CROWN
phonemes: tˈɪz tɹˈuː, bɪkˈʌz ðə ɡˈɑːd ʌv wˈɪt tə ɡɛt hˌɪm ɪn ðæt ʃˈeɪp θˈɔːt fˈɪt, hiːl hæv sˌʌm ɡlˈoʊwɜːm spˈɑːɹks ʌv ɪt. vˈɛntʃɚ juː mˈeɪ tə tˈɜːn hˌɪm lˈuːs, bˌʌt lˈɛt ɪt biː tʊ ɐnˈʌðɚ ɡˈuːs. ðə tˈaɪm wɪl kˈʌm, ðə fˈeɪɾəl tˈaɪm, wˌɛn hiː ʃˌæl dˈɛɹ ɐ swˈɑːn tə ɹˈaɪm; ðə tˈoʊɹɪŋ swˈɑːn kˈʌmz sˈaʊsɪŋ dˈaʊn, ænd bɹˈeɪks hɪz pˈɪniənz, kɹˈæks hɪz kɹˈaʊn.