text_original: But then, what though the mystic Three Around me ply their merry trade?    And Charon soon may carry me Across the gloomy Stygian glade?    Be up, my soul! nor be afraid Of what some unborn year may show; But mind your human debts are paid, As one by one the phantoms go.
text_transcription: BUT THEN WHAT THOUGH THE MYSTIC THREE AROUND ME PLY THEIR MERRY TRADE AND CHARON SOON MAY CARRY ME ACROSS THE GLOOMY STYGIAN GLADE BE UP MY SOUL NOR BE AFRAID OF WHAT SOME UNBORN YEAR MAY SHOW BUT MIND YOUR HUMAN DEBTS ARE PAID AS ONE BY ONE THE PHANTOMS GO
phonemes: bˌʌt ðˈɛn, wˌʌt ðˌoʊ ðə mˈɪstɪk θɹˈiː ɚɹˈaʊnd mˌiː plˈaɪ ðɛɹ mˈɛɹi tɹˈeɪd?    ænd tʃˈæɹən sˈuːn mˈeɪ kˈæɹi mˌiː əkɹˌɑːs ðə ɡlˈuːmi stˈɪdʒiən ɡlˈeɪd?    biː ˈʌp, maɪ sˈoʊl! nˈɔːɹ biː ɐfɹˈeɪd ʌv wʌt sˌʌm ʌnbˈɔːɹn jˈɪɹ mˈeɪ ʃˈoʊ; bˌʌt mˈaɪnd jʊɹ hjˈuːmən dˈɛts ɑːɹ pˈeɪd, æz wˈʌn baɪ wˈʌn ðə fˈæntəmz ɡˈoʊ.