text_original: The cynics say that every rose Is guarded by a thorn which grows To spoil our posies; But I no pleasure therefore lack; I keep my hands behind my back When smelling roses.
text_transcription: THE CYNICS SAY THAT EVERY ROSE IS GUARDED BY A THORN WHICH GROWS TO SPOIL OUR POSIES BUT I KNOW PLEASURE THEREFORE LACK I KEEP MY HANDS BEHIND MY BACK WHEN SMELLING ROSES
phonemes: ðə sˈɪnɪks sˈeɪ ðæt ˈɛvɹi ɹˈoʊz ɪz ɡˈɑːɹdᵻd baɪ ɐ θˈɔːɹn wˌɪtʃ ɡɹˈoʊz tə spˈɔɪl ˌaʊɚ pˈoʊziz; bˌʌt aɪ nˈoʊ plˈɛʒɚ ðˈɛɹfɔːɹ lˈæk; aɪ kˈiːp maɪ hˈændz bᵻhˌaɪnd maɪ bˈæk wɛn smˈɛlɪŋ ɹˈoʊzᵻz.