text_original: O spendthrift, haste! await the Gods; Their nectar crowns the lips of Patience; Haste scatters on unthankful sods The immortal gift in vain libations. Coy Hebe flies from those that woo, And shuns the hands would seize upon her, Follow thy life, and she will sue To pour for thee the cup of honor.
text_transcription: O SPENDTHRIFT HASTE AWAIT THE GODS THEIR NECTAR CROWNS THE LIPS OF PATIENCE HASTE SCATTERS ON UNTHANKFUL SODS THE IMMORTAL GIFT IN VAIN LIBATIONS COHEBI FLIES FROM THOSE THAT WOO AND SHUNS THE HANDS WOULD SEIZE UPON HER FOLLOW THY LIFE AND SHE WILL SUE TO POUR FOR THEE THE CUP OF HONOUR
phonemes: ˈoʊ spˈɛndθɹɪft, hˈeɪst! ɐwˈeɪt ðə ɡˈɑːdz; ðɛɹ nˈɛktɚ kɹˈaʊnz ðə lˈɪps ʌv pˈeɪʃəns; hˈeɪst skˈæɾɚz ˌɔn ʌnθˈæŋkfəl sˈɑːdz ðɪ ɪmˈɔːɹɾəl ɡˈɪft ɪn vˈeɪn lɪbˈeɪʃənz. kˈɔɪ hˈiːb flˈaɪz fɹʌm ðoʊz ðæt wˈuː, ænd ʃˈʌnz ðə hˈændz wʊd sˈiːz əpˌɑːn hɜː, fˈɑːloʊ ðˌaɪ lˈaɪf, ænd ʃiː wɪl sˈuː tə pˈɔːɹ fɔːɹ ðiː ðə kˈʌp ʌv ˈɑːnɚ.