text_original: My fields are brought to such a pass, I have not left a blade of grass; That all my wethers and my beeves Are slighted by the very thieves. At night right loath to quit the park, His work just ended by the dark, With all his pioneers he comes, To make more work for whisk and brooms.
text_transcription: MY FIELDS ARE BROUGHT TO SUCH A PASS I HAVE NOT LEFT A BLADE OF GRASS THAT ALL MY WEATHERS AND MY BEADS ARE SLIGHTED BY THE VERY THIEVES AT NIGHT RIGHT LOATH TO QUIT THE PARK HIS WORK JUST ENDED BY THE DARK WITH ALL HIS PIONEERS HE COMES TO MAKE MORE WORK FOR WHISK AND BROOMS
phonemes: maɪ fˈiːldz ɑːɹ bɹˈɔːt tə sˈʌtʃ ɐ pˈæs, aɪ hɐvnˌɑːt lˈɛft ɐ blˈeɪd ʌv ɡɹˈæs; ðæt ˈɔːl maɪ wˈɛðɚz ænd maɪ bˈiːvz ɑːɹ slˈaɪɾᵻd baɪ ðə vˈɛɹi θˈiːvz. æt nˈaɪt ɹˈaɪt lˈoʊθ tə kwˈɪt ðə pˈɑːɹk, hɪz wˈɜːk dʒˈʌst ˈɛndᵻd baɪ ðə dˈɑːɹk, wɪð ˈɔːl hɪz paɪənˈɪɹz hiː kˈʌmz, tə mˌeɪk mˈɔːɹ wˈɜːk fɔːɹ wˈɪsk ænd bɹˈuːmz.