text_original: Block all the upland roads with trees; The Little Tower with no great ease Is won, I warrant; bid them bring Much sheep and oxen, everything The spits are wont to turn with; wine And wheaten bread, that we may dine In plenty each day of the siege.
text_transcription: BLOCK ALL THE UPLAND ROADS WITH TREES THE LITTLE TOWER WITH NO GREAT EASE IS ONE I WARRANT BID THEM BRING MUCH SHEEP AND OXEN EVERYTHING THE SPITS ARE WONT TO TURN WITH WINE AND WHEAT AND BREAD THAT WE MAY DINE IN PLENTY EACH DAY OF THE SIEGE
phonemes: blˈɑːk ˈɔːl ðɪ ˈʌplənd ɹˈoʊdz wɪð tɹˈiːz; ðə lˈɪɾəl tˈaʊɚ wɪð nˈoʊ ɡɹˈeɪt ˈiːz ɪz wˈʌn, aɪ wˈɔːɹənt; bˈɪd ðˌɛm bɹˈɪŋ mˈʌtʃ ʃˈiːp ænd ˈɑːksən, ˈɛvɹɪθˌɪŋ ðə spˈɪts ɑːɹ wˈɔnt tə tˈɜːn wɪð; wˈaɪn ænd wˈiːʔn̩ bɹˈɛd, ðæt wiː mˈeɪ dˈaɪn ɪn plˈɛnti ˈiːtʃ dˈeɪ ʌvðə sˈiːdʒ.