text_original: Till then poor Dove, I wandering fly Between the Deluge and the Skie: Till then I Mourn, but do not sing, And oft shall plunge my wearied wing: If her bless'd hand vouchsafe the Grace, I'th'Ark with her to give a place, I safe from danger shall be found, When Vice and Folly others drown'd.
text_transcription: TILL THEN POOR DOVE I WANDERING FLY BETWEEN THE DELUGE AND THE SKY TILL THEN I MOURN BUT DO NOT SING AND OFT SHALL PLUNGE MY WEARIED WING IF HER BLEST HAND VOUCHSAFE THE GRACE I THE ARK WITH HER TO GIVE UP PLACE I SAFE FROM DANGER SHALL BE FOUND WHEN VICE AND FOLLY OTHERS DROWNED
phonemes: tˈɪl ðˈɛn pˈʊɹ dˈʌv, aɪ wˈɔndɚɹɪŋ flˈaɪ bᵻtwˌiːn ðə dˈɛljuːdʒ ænd ðə skˈaɪ: tˈɪl ðˈɛn aɪ mˈɔːɹn, bˌʌt duːnˌɑːt sˈɪŋ, ænd ˈɔft ʃˌæl plˈʌndʒ maɪ wˈɪɹid wˈɪŋ: ɪf hɜː blˈɛsd hˈænd vˈaʊtʃseɪf ðə ɡɹˈeɪs, aɪθˈɑːɹk wɪð hɜː tə ɡˈɪv ɐ plˈeɪs, aɪ sˈeɪf fɹʌm dˈeɪndʒɚ ʃˌæl biː fˈaʊnd, wˌɛn vˈaɪs ænd fˈɑːli ˈʌðɚz dɹˈaʊnd.