text_original: They stood her in the judgment hall. "Confess," they cried, "the blasting spell That holds yon crazed monk in thrall?" "Good sirs," she said, "he loved me well." They haled her to a witch's doom, They matched her shining hair with flame   But ever through the cloister's gloom The mad monk babbles of her name!
text_transcription: THEY STOOD HER IN THE JUDGMENT HALL CONFESS THEY CRIED THE BLASTING SPELL THAT HOLDS YON CRAZED MONK IN THRALL GOOD SIRS SHE SAID HE LOVED ME WELL THEY HALED HER TO A WITCH'S DOOM THEY MATCHED HER SHINING HAIR WITH FLAME BUT EVEN THROUGH THE CLOISTER'S GLOOM THE MAD MONK BABBLES OF HER NAME
phonemes: ðeɪ stˈʊd hɜːɹ ɪnðə dʒˈʌdʒmənt hˈɔːl. "kənfˈɛs," ðeɪ kɹˈaɪd, "ðə blˈæstɪŋ spˈɛl ðæt hˈoʊldz jˈɑːn kɹˈeɪzd mˈʌŋk ɪn θɹˈɔːl?" "ɡˈʊd sˈɜːz," ʃiː sˈɛd, "hiː lˈʌvd mˌiː wˈɛl." ðeɪ hˈeɪld hɜː tʊ ɐ wˈɪtʃɪz dˈuːm, ðeɪ mˈætʃt hɜː ʃˈaɪnɪŋ hˈɛɹ wɪð flˈeɪm bˌʌt ˈɛvɚ θɹuː ðə klˈɔɪstɚz ɡlˈuːm ðə mˈæd mˈʌŋk bˈæbəlz ʌv hɜː nˈeɪm!