text_original: IX. For why, he neither slept, nor drank, nor fed, Nor relished any kind of mirth below; Fire in his heart, and frenzy in his head, Love had become his universal foe, Salt in his sugar  nightmare in his bed, At last, no wonder wretched Julio, A sorrow ridden thing, in utter dearth Of hope,  made up his mind to cut her girth!
text_transcription: NINE FOR WHY HE NEITHER SLEPT NOR DRANK NOR FED NOR RELISHED ANY KIND OF MIRTH BELOW FIRE IN HIS HEART AND FRENZY IN HIS HEAD LOVE HAD BECOME HIS UNIVERSAL FOE SALT IN HIS SUGAR NIGHTMARE IN HIS BED AT LAST NO WONDER WRETCHED JULIO A SORROW RIDDEN THING IN UTTER DEARTH OF HOPE MADE UP HIS MIND TO CUT HER GIRTH
phonemes: ɹˌoʊmən nˈaɪn. fɔːɹ wˈaɪ, hiː nˈiːðɚ slˈɛpt, nˈɔːɹ dɹˈæŋk, nˈɔːɹ fˈɛd, nˈɔːɹ ɹˈɛlɪʃt ˌɛni kˈaɪnd ʌv mˈɜːθ bᵻlˈoʊ; fˈaɪɚɹ ɪn hɪz hˈɑːɹt, ænd fɹˈɛnzi ɪn hɪz hˈɛd, lˈʌv hæd bɪkˌʌm hɪz jˌuːnɪvˈɜːsəl fˈoʊ, sˈɔlt ɪn hɪz ʃˈʊɡɚ nˈaɪtmɛɹ ɪn hɪz bˈɛd, æt lˈæst, nˈoʊ wˈʌndɚ ɹˈɛtʃᵻd dʒˈuːlɪˌoʊ, ɐ sˈɑːɹoʊ ɹˈɪdən θˈɪŋ, ɪn ˈʌɾɚ dˈɜːθ ʌv hˈoʊp,  mˌeɪd ˌʌp hɪz mˈaɪnd tə kˈʌt hɜː ɡˈɜːθ!