text_original: I never thought A priest would please your palate; Besides, I'll hold a groat He'll put you in a ballad; Where I shall see your faces, On paper daub'd so foul, They'll be no more like graces, Than Venus like an owl. And we shall take you rather To be a midnight pack Of witches met together, With Beelzebub in black. It fills my heart with woe, To think such ladies fine Should be reduced so low, To treat a dull divine.
text_transcription: I NEVER THOUGHT A PRIEST WOULD PLEASE YOUR PALATE BESIDES I'LL HOLD A GROAT HE'LL PUT YOU IN A BALLAD WHERE I SHALL SEE YOUR FACES ON PAPER DAUBED SO FOUL THERE'LL BE NO MORE LIKE GRACES THAN VENUS LIKE AN OWL AND WE SHALL TAKE YOU RATHER TO BE A MIDNIGHT PACK OF WITCHES MET TOGETHER WITH BEZEL BUB IN BLACK IT FILLS MY HEART WITH WOE TO THINK SUCH LADIES FINE SHOULD BE REDUCED SO LOW TO TREAT A DULL DIVINE
phonemes: aɪ nˈɛvɚ θˈɔːt ɐ pɹˈiːst wʊd plˈiːz jʊɹ pˈælət; bᵻsˈaɪdz, aɪl hˈoʊld ɐ ɡɹˈoʊt hiːl pˌʊt juː ɪn ɐ bˈæləd; wˌɛɹ aɪʃˌɐl sˈiː jʊɹ fˈeɪsᵻz, ˌɔn pˈeɪpɚ dˈɔːbd sˌoʊ fˈaʊl, ðeɪl biː nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ lˈaɪk ɡɹˈeɪsᵻz, ðɐn vˈiːnəs lˈaɪk ɐn ˈaʊl. ænd wiːʃˌɐl tˈeɪk juː ɹˈæðɚ təbi ɐ mˈɪdnaɪt pˈæk ʌv wˈɪtʃᵻz mˈɛt təɡˈɛðɚ, wɪð bˈiːlzɪbˌʌb ɪn blˈæk. ɪt fˈɪlz maɪ hˈɑːɹt wɪð wˈoʊ, tə θˈɪŋk sˈʌtʃ lˈeɪdiz fˈaɪn ʃˌʊd biː ɹᵻdˈuːst sˌoʊ lˈoʊ, tə tɹˈiːt ɐ dˈʌl dᵻvˈaɪn.