text_original: Dear Pan! 'Tis he that calls me out; He, lying in some hazel copse, Where lazily he turns about And munches each nut as it drops, Well pleased to see me swamped in doubt At sound of his much changing stops.
text_transcription: DEAR PAN TIS HE THAT CALLS ME OUT HE LYING IN SOME HAZEL COPSE WHERE LAZILY HE TURNS ABOUT AND MUNCHES EACH NUT AS IT DROPS WELL PLEASED TO SEE ME SWAMPED IN DOUBT AT SOUND OF HIS MUCH CHANGING STOPS
phonemes: dˈɪɹ pˈæn! tˈɪz hiː ðæt kˈɔːlz mˌiː ˈaʊt; hiː, lˈaɪɪŋ ɪn sˌʌm hˈeɪzəl kˈɑːps, wˌɛɹ lˈeɪzili hiː tˈɜːnz ɐbˌaʊt ænd mˈʌntʃᵻz ˈiːtʃ nˈʌt æz ɪt dɹˈɑːps, wˈɛl plˈiːzd tə sˈiː mˌiː swˈɑːmpt ɪn dˈaʊt æt sˈaʊnd ʌv hɪz mˈʌtʃ tʃˈeɪndʒɪŋ stˈɑːps.