text_original: Pinched and poor the spendthrift grew, When the sour north easter blew. In her larder not a scrap, Bread to taste, nor drink to lap. To the Ant, her neighbour, she Went to moan her penury, Praying for a loan of wheat, Just to make a loaf to eat, Till the sunshine came again.
text_transcription: PINCHED AND POOR THE SPANTHRIFT GREW WHEN THE SOUR NOR EASTER BLEW IN HER LARDER NOT A SCRAP BREAD TO TASTE NOR DRINK TO LAP TO THE END HER NEIGHBOUR SHE WENT TO MOAN HER PENURY PRAYING FOR A LOAN OF WHEAT JUST TO MAKE A LOAF TO EAT TILL THE SUNSHINE CAME AGAIN
phonemes: pˈɪntʃt ænd pˈʊɹ ðə spˈɛndθɹɪft ɡɹˈuː, wˌɛn ðə sˈaʊɚ nˈɔːɹθ ˈiːstɚ blˈuː. ɪn hɜː lˈɑːɹdɚ nˌɑːɾə skɹˈæp, bɹˈɛd tə tˈeɪst, nˈɔːɹ dɹˈɪŋk tə lˈæp. tə ðɪ ˈænt, hɜː nˈeɪbɚ, ʃiː wɛnt tə mˈoʊn hɜː pˈɛnjʊɹi, pɹˈeɪɪŋ fɚɹə lˈoʊn ʌv wˈiːt, dʒˈʌst tə mˌeɪk ɐ lˈoʊf tʊ ˈiːt, tˈɪl ðə sˈʌnʃaɪn kˈeɪm ɐɡˈɛn.