text_original: And next I will paint a drunkard   Only a year has flown, But into that loathsome creature The fair young boy has grown. The work was sure and rapid. I will paint him as he lies In a torpid, drunken slumber, Under the wintry skies.
text_transcription: AND NEXT I WILL PAINT THE DRUNKARD ONLY A YEAR HAS FLOWN BUT INTO THAT LOATHSOME CREATURE THE FAIR YOUNG BOY HAS GROWN THE WORK WAS SURE AND RAPID I WILL PAINT HIM AS HE LIES IN A TORPID DRUNKEN SLUMBER UNDER THE WINTRY SKIES
phonemes: ænd nˈɛkst aɪ wɪl pˈeɪnt ɐ dɹˈʌŋkɚd ˈoʊnli ɐ jˈɪɹ hɐz flˈoʊn, bˌʌt ˌɪntʊ ðæt lˈoʊθsʌm kɹˈiːtʃɚ ðə fˈɛɹ jˈʌŋ bˈɔɪ hɐz ɡɹˈoʊn. ðə wˈɜːk wʌz ʃˈʊɹ ænd ɹˈæpɪd. aɪ wɪl pˈeɪnt hˌɪm æz hiː lˈaɪz ɪn ɐ tˈɔːɹpɪd, dɹˈʌŋkən slˈʌmbɚ, ˌʌndɚ ðə wˈɪntɹi skˈaɪz.