text_original: "Oh, my lord Sir Lancelot," he said at last, "God send you hasty recovery; great is my shame for having wounded you thus, you who are the noblest Knight in the world. I wonder that my arm would lift itself against you, and I ask your mercy."
text_transcription: O MY LORD SIR LAUNCELOT HE SAID AT LAST GOD SENDS YOU HASTY RECOVERY GREAT IS MY SHAME FOR HAVING WOUNDED YOU THUS YOU WHO ARE THE NOBLEST KNIGHT IN THE WORLD I WONDER THAT MY ARM WOULD LIFT ITSELF AGAINST YOU AND I ASK YOUR MERCY
phonemes: "ˈoʊ, maɪ lˈɔːɹd sˌɜː lˈænsɪlˌɑːt," hiː sˈɛd æt lˈæst, "ɡˈɑːd sˈɛnd juː hˈeɪsti ɹᵻkˈʌvɚɹi; ɡɹˈeɪt ɪz maɪ ʃˈeɪm fɔːɹ hˌævɪŋ wˈuːndᵻd juː ðˈʌs, juː hˌuː ɑːɹ ðə nˈoʊbəlɪst nˈaɪt ɪnðə wˈɜːld. aɪ wˈʌndɚ ðæt maɪ ˈɑːɹm wʊd lˈɪft ɪtsˈɛlf ɐɡˈɛnst juː, ænd aɪ ˈæsk jʊɹ mˈɜːsi."