text_original: Thee SHAKESPEARE to day we honour; and evermore, Since England bore thee, the master of human song, Thy folk are we, children of thee, Who knitting in one her realm And strengthening with pride her sea borne clans, Scorn'st in the grave the bruize of death.
text_transcription: THEE SHAKESPEARE TO DAY WE HONOUR AND EVERMORE SINCE ENGLAND BORE THEE THE MASTER OF HUMAN SONG THY FOLK ARE WE CHILDREN OF THEE WHO KNITTING IN ONE HER REALM AND STRENGTHENING WITH PRIDE HER SEA BORN CLANS SCORNED IN THE GRAVE THE BRUCE OF DEATH
phonemes: ðiː ʃˈeɪkspɪɹ tə dˈeɪ wiː ˈɑːnɚ; ænd ˌɛvɚmˈɔːɹ, sˈɪns ˈɪŋɡlənd bˈɔːɹ ðˈiː, ðə mˈæstɚɹ ʌv hjˈuːmən sˈɔŋ, ðˌaɪ fˈoʊk ɑːɹ wiː, tʃˈɪldɹən ʌv ðˈiː, hˌuː nˈɪɾɪŋ ɪn wˈʌn hɜː ɹˈɛlm ænd stɹˈɛŋθənɪŋ wɪð pɹˈaɪd hɜː sˈiː bˈɔːɹn klˈænz, skˈɔːɹnst ɪnðə ɡɹˈeɪv ðə bɹˈuːaɪz ʌv dˈɛθ.