text_original: (Nothing was he aware In his deaf Breton air,   So gray traditions there Throve unforgotten,   That, by a final chance, Kings all were led a dance; Long since, in fickle France, Sceptres were rotten!)
text_transcription: NOTHING WAS HE AWARE IN HIS DEAF BRETON AIR SO GREAT TRADITIONS THERE THROVE UNFORGOTTEN THAT BY A FINAL CHANCE KINGS ALL WERE LED A DANCE LONG SINCE IN FIGURE FRANCE SCEPTERS WERE ROTTEN
phonemes: (nˈʌθɪŋ wʌz hiː ɐwˈɛɹ ɪn hɪz dˈɛf bɹˈɛtən ˈɛɹ,   sˌoʊ ɡɹˈeɪ tɹɐdˈɪʃənz ðɛɹ θɹˈoʊv ʌnfɚɡˈɑːʔn̩,   ðˈæt, baɪ ɐ fˈaɪnəl tʃˈæns, kˈɪŋz ˈɔːl wɜː lˈɛd ɐ dˈæns; lˈɔŋ sˈɪns, ɪn fˈɪkəl fɹˈæns, sˈɛptɚz wɜː ɹˈɑːʔn̩!)