text_original: New captives fill the nets you weave; New slaves are bred; and those before, Though oft they threaten, never leave Your godless door. The mother dreads you for her son, The thrifty sire, the new wed bride, Lest, lured by you, her precious one Should leave her side.
text_transcription: NEW CAPTIVES FILL THE NETS YOU WEAVE NEW SLAVES ARE BRED AND THOSE BEFORE THOUGH OFT THEY THREATEN NEVER LEAVE YOUR GODLESS DOOR THE MOTHER DREADS YOU FOR HER SON THE THRIFTY SIRE THE NEW WED BRIDE LEST LUED BY YOU HER PRECIOUS ONE SHOULD LEAVE HER SIDE
phonemes: nˈuː kˈæptɪvz fˈɪl ðə nˈɛts juː wˈiːv; nˈuː slˈeɪvz ɑːɹ bɹˈɛd; ænd ðoʊz bᵻfˈɔːɹ, ðˌoʊ ˈɔft ðeɪ θɹˈɛʔn̩, nˈɛvɚ lˈiːv jʊɹ ɡˈɑːdləs dˈɔːɹ. ðə mˈʌðɚ dɹˈɛdz juː fɔːɹ hɜː sˈʌn, ðə θɹˈɪfti sˈaɪɚ, ðə nˈuː wˈɛd bɹˈaɪd, lˈɛst, lˈʊɹd baɪ juː, hɜː pɹˈɛʃəs wˈʌn ʃˌʊd lˈiːv hɜː sˈaɪd.