text_original: VIII. No sort of sign there was that he Could raise a stormy rumpus, Like Prospero make breezes blow, And rocks and billows thump us,   But little we supposed what he Could with the needle compass!
text_transcription: EIGHT NO SORT OF SIGN THERE WAS THAT HE COULD RAISE THE STORMY RUMPAS LIKE PROSPERO MAKE BREEZES BLOW AND ROCKS AND BILLOWS THUMP US BUT LITTLE WE SUPPOSED WHAT HE COULD WITH THE NEEDLE COMPASS
phonemes: ɹˌoʊmən ˈeɪt. nˈoʊ sˈɔːɹt ʌv sˈaɪn ðɛɹwˌʌz ðæt hiː kʊd ɹˈeɪz ɐ stˈɔːɹmi ɹˈʌmpəs, lˈaɪk pɹˈɑːspɚɹˌoʊ mˌeɪk bɹˈiːzᵻz blˈoʊ, ænd ɹˈɑːks ænd bˈɪloʊz θˈʌmp ˌʌs,   bˌʌt lˈɪɾəl wiː səpˈoʊzd wʌt hiː kʊd wɪððə nˈiːdəl kˈʌmpəs!