text_original: Come, quit this grove to delight our cities, And waste no longer a gift so rare. These woods, my sister, must oft remind you Of all the sorrow King Tereus wrought. Leave, leave the terrible days behind you, And give to the past not a tearful thought."
text_transcription: COME QUIT THIS GROVE TO DELIGHT OUR CITIES AND WASTE NO LONGER A GIFT SO RARE THESE WOODS MY SISTER MUST OFT REMIND YOU OF ALL THE SORROW KING THEORIUS WROUGHT LEAVE LEAVE THE TERRIBLE DAYS BEHIND YOU AND GIVE TO THE PAST NOT A TEARFUL THOUGHT
phonemes: kˈʌm, kwˈɪt ðɪs ɡɹˈoʊv tə dᵻlˈaɪt ˌaʊɚ sˈɪɾiz, ænd wˈeɪst nˌoʊ lˈɑːŋɡɚɹ ɐ ɡˈɪft sˌoʊ ɹˈɛɹ. ðiːz wˈʊdz, maɪ sˈɪstɚ, mˈʌst ˈɔft ɹᵻmˈaɪnd juː ʌv ˈɔːl ðə sˈɑːɹoʊ kˈɪŋ tˈɛɹɪəs ɹˈɔːt. lˈiːv, lˈiːv ðə tˈɛɹᵻbəl dˈeɪz bᵻhˈaɪnd juː, ænd ɡˈɪv tə ðə pˈæst nˌɑːɾə tˈɪɹfəl θˈɔːt."