text_original: Then pluck a reed And bid me sing to thee, For I would feed Thine ears with melody, Who art more fair Than fairest fleur de lys, More sweet and rare Than sweetest ambergris. What dost thou fear?
text_transcription: THEN PLUCK A REED AND BID ME SING TO THEE FOR I WOULD FEED THINE EARS WITH MELODY WHO ART MORE FAIR THAN FAIREST FLEUR DE LIS MORE SWEET AND RARE THAN SWEETEST AMBER GREASE WHAT DOST THOU FEAR
phonemes: ðˈɛn plˈʌk ɐ ɹˈiːd ænd bˈɪd mˌiː sˈɪŋ tə ðˈiː, fɔːɹ aɪ wʊd fˈiːd ðaɪn ˈɪɹz wɪð mˈɛlədi, hˌuː ˈɑːɹt mˈɔːɹ fˈɛɹ ðɐn fˈɛɹəst flˈʊɹ də lˈaɪz, mˈɔːɹ swˈiːt ænd ɹˈɛɹ ðɐn swˈiːɾɪst ˈæmbɚɡɹˌɪs. wˌʌt dˈɑːst ðˈaʊ fˈɪɹ?