text_original: "Can death assail me when I am just about to enter upon perpetual life? Help me, good grandson! Place the phial to my lips. Pour its contents down my throat  quick! quick!" [Illustration: The Elixir of Long Life.] "I am too weak to stir," groaned Auriol. "You have delayed it too long."
text_transcription: CAN DEATH ASSAIL ME WHEN I AM JUST ABOUT TO ENTER UPON PERPETUAL LIFE HELP ME GOOD GRANDSON PLACE THE FILE TO MY LIPS POUR ITS CONTENTS DOWN MY THROAT QUICK QUICK I AM TOO WEAK TO STIR GROANED ORIOLE YOU HAVE DELAYED IT TOO LONG
phonemes: "kæn dˈɛθ ɐsˈeɪl mˌiː wɛn aɪɐm dʒˈʌst ɐbˌaʊt tʊ ˈɛntɚɹ əpˌɑːn pɚpˈɛtʃuːəl lˈaɪf? hˈɛlp mˌiː, ɡˈʊd ɡɹˈændsʌn! plˈeɪs ðə fˈaɪəl tə maɪ lˈɪps. pˈɔːɹ ɪts kˈɑːntɛnts dˌaʊn maɪ θɹˈoʊt kwˈɪk! kwˈɪk!" [ˌɪləstɹˈeɪʃən: ðɪ ᵻlˈɪksɚɹ ʌv lˈɔŋ lˈaɪf.] "aɪɐm tˈuː wˈiːk tə stˈɜː," ɡɹˈoʊnd ˈɔːɹɪˌɑːl. "juː hæv dᵻlˈeɪd ɪt tˈuː lˈɔŋ."