text_original: SPOKEN BY ONE OF THE SCHOLARS AS in a silent night a lonely swain, 'Tending his flocks on the Pharsalian plain, To Heaven around directs his wandering eyes, And every look finds out a new surprise; So great's our wonder, ladies, when we view Our lower sphere made more serene by you. O! could such light in my dark bosom shine, What life, what vigour, should adorn each line!
text_transcription: SPOKEN BY ONE OF THE SCHOLARS AS IN A SILENT NIGHT A LONELY SWAIN TENDING HIS FLOCKS ON THE VERSALIAN PLAIN TO HEAVEN AROUND DIRECTS HIS WANDERING EYES AND EVERY LOOK FINDS OUT A NEW SURPRISE SO GREAT'S OUR WONDER LADIES WHEN WE VIEW OUR LOWER SPHERE MADE MORE SERENE BY YOU O COULD SUCH LIGHT IN MY DARK BOSOM SHINE WHAT LIFE WHAT VIGOUR SHOULD ADORN EACH LINE
phonemes: spˈoʊkən baɪ wˈʌn ʌvðə skˈɑːlɚz æz ɪn ɐ sˈaɪlənt nˈaɪt ɐ lˈoʊnli swˈeɪn, tˈɛndɪŋ hɪz flˈɑːks ɔnðə fɑːɹsˈeɪliən plˈeɪn, tə hˈɛvən ɚɹˈaʊnd dᵻɹˈɛkts hɪz wˈɔndɚɹɪŋ ˈaɪz, ænd ˈɛvɹi lˈʊk fˈaɪndz ˈaʊt ɐ nˈuː sɚpɹˈaɪz; sˌoʊ ɡɹˈeɪts ˌaʊɚ wˈʌndɚ, lˈeɪdiz, wˌɛn wiː vjˈuː ˌaʊɚ lˈoʊɚ sfˈɪɹ mˌeɪd mˈɔːɹ sɚɹˈiːn baɪ juː. ˈoʊ! kʊd sˈʌtʃ lˈaɪt ɪn maɪ dˈɑːɹk bˈʊzəm ʃˈaɪn, wˌʌt lˈaɪf, wˌʌt vˈɪɡɚ, ʃˌʊd ɐdˈɔːɹn ˈiːtʃ lˈaɪn!