text_original: If I write any more, it will make my poor Muse sick. This night I came home with a very cold dew sick, And I wish I may soon be not of an ague sick; But I hope I shall ne'er be like you, of a shrew sick, Who often has made me, by looking askew, sick.
text_transcription: IF I WRITE ANY MORE IT WILL MAKE MY POOR MUSE SICK THIS NIGHT I CAME HOME WITH A VERY COLD DEW SICK AND I WISH I MAY SOON BE NOT OF AN AGOO SICK BUT I HOPE I SHALL NE'ER BE LIKE YOU OF A SHRUSSIC WHO OFTEN HAS MADE ME BY LOOKING ASKEW SICK
phonemes: ɪf aɪ ɹˈaɪt ˌɛni mˈɔːɹ, ɪt wɪl mˌeɪk maɪ pˈʊɹ mjˈuːz sˈɪk. ðɪs nˈaɪt aɪ kˈeɪm hˈoʊm wɪð ɐ vˈɛɹi kˈoʊld dˈuː sˈɪk, ænd aɪ wˈɪʃ aɪ mˈeɪ sˈuːn biː nˌɑːt əvən ˈeɪɡjuː sˈɪk; bˌʌt aɪ hˈoʊp aɪʃˌɐl nˈɛɹ biː lˈaɪk juː, əvə ʃɹˈuː sˈɪk, hˌuː ˈɔfən hɐz mˈeɪd mˌiː, baɪ lˈʊkɪŋ ɐskjˈuː, sˈɪk.