text_original: The memory of common peril, of old help, melts the rough heart; bosom is clasped to bosom, not in war. The King shews himself, one moment, through the door of his Apartment, with: 'Do not hurt my Guards!
text_transcription: THE MEMORY OF COMMON PERIL OF OLD HELP MELTS THE ROUGH HEART BOSOM IS CLASPED TO BOSOM NOT IN WAR THE KING SHOWS HIMSELF ONE MOMENT THROUGH THE DOOR OF HIS APARTMENT WITH DO NOT HURT MY GUARDS
phonemes: ðə mˈɛmɚɹi ʌv kˈɑːmən pˈɛɹəl, ʌv ˈoʊld hˈɛlp, mˈɛlts ðə ɹˈʌf hˈɑːɹt; bˈʊzəm ɪz klˈæspt tə bˈʊzəm, nˌɑːt ɪn wˈɔːɹ. ðə kˈɪŋ ʃˈoʊz hɪmsˈɛlf, wˈʌn mˈoʊmənt, θɹuː ðə dˈɔːɹ ʌv hɪz ɐpˈɑːɹtmənt, wɪð: duːnˌɑːt hˈɜːt maɪ ɡˈɑːɹdz!