text_original: The Grief were Endless, that should all bewaile, Against whose sweet Repose thou dost prevail: Some freeze with Agues, some with Feavers burn, Whose Lives thou half out of their Holds dost turn; And of whose Sufferings it may be said, They living feel the very State o'th' Dead.
text_transcription: THEE GRIEF WERE ENDLESS THAT SHOULD ALL BEWAIL AGAINST WHOSE SWEET REPOSE THOU DOST PREVAIL SOME FREEZE WITH AGOS SOME WITH FEVERS BURN WHOSE LIVES THOU HALF OUT OF THEIR HOLDS DOST TURN AND OF WHOSE SUFFERINGS IT MAY BE SAID THEY LIVING FEEL THE VERY STATE OF THE DEAD
phonemes: ðə ɡɹˈiːf wɜːɹ ˈɛndləs, ðæt ʃˌʊd ˈɔːl bᵻwˈeɪl, ɐɡˈɛnst hˌuːz swˈiːt ɹᵻpˈoʊz ðˈaʊ dˈɑːst pɹɪvˈeɪl: sˌʌm fɹˈiːz wɪð ˈeɪɡjuːz, sˌʌm wɪð fˈiːvɚz bˈɜːn, hˌuːz lˈaɪvz ðˈaʊ hˈæf ˌaʊɾəv ðɛɹ hˈoʊldz dˈɑːst tˈɜːn; ænd ʌv hˌuːz sˈʌfɚɹɪŋz ɪt mˈeɪ biː sˈɛd, ðeɪ lˈɪvɪŋ fˈiːl ðə vˈɛɹi stˈeɪt oʊθ dˈɛd.