text_original: There's a grim one horse hearse in a jolly round trot   To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot; The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs; And hark to the dirge which the mad driver sings; _Rattle his bones over the stones! He's only a pauper whom nobody owns!
text_transcription: THERE'S A GRIM ONE WHO'S HERSE IN A JOLLY ROUND TROT TO THE CHURCHYARD A PAUPER IS GOING I WOT THE ROAD IT IS ROUGH AND THE HEARSE HAS NO SPRINGS AND HARK TO THE DIRT WHICH THE MAD DRIVER SINGS RATTLE HIS BONES OVER THE STONES HE'S ONLY A PAUPER WHOM NOBODY OWNS
phonemes: ðɛɹz ɐ ɡɹˈɪm wˈʌn hˈɔːɹs hˈɜːs ɪn ɐ dʒˈɑːli ɹˈaʊnd tɹˈɑːt tə ðə tʃˈɜːtʃjɑːɹd ɐ pˈɔːpɚɹ ɪz ɡˈoʊɪŋ, aɪ wˈɑːt; ðə ɹˈoʊd ɪɾ ɪz ɹˈʌf, ænd ðə hˈɜːs hɐz nˈoʊ spɹˈɪŋz; ænd hˈɑːɹk tə ðə dˈɜːdʒ wˌɪtʃ ðə mˈæd dɹˈaɪvɚ sˈɪŋz; ɹˈæɾəl hɪz bˈoʊnz ˌoʊvɚ ðə stˈoʊnz! hiːz ˈoʊnli ɐ pˈɔːpɚ hˈuːm nˈoʊbɑːdi ˈoʊnz!