text_original: better still for alms to pray! At most, I've plucked some apple, left To ripen near the public way, Yet weeks and weeks, in dungeons laid In the king's name, they let me pine; They stole the only wealth I had,   Though poor and old, the sun, at least, was mine.
text_transcription: BETTER STILL FOR ALMS TO PRAY AT MOST I'VE PLUCKED SOME APPLE LEFT TO RIPEN YE THE PUBLIC WAY YET WEEKS AND WEEKS IN DUNGEONS LAID IN THE KING'S NAME THEY LET ME PINE THEY STOLE THE ONLY WEALTH I HAD THOUGH POOR AND OLD THE SUN AT LEAST WAS MINE
phonemes: bˈɛɾɚ stˈɪl fɔːɹ ˈɑːmz tə pɹˈeɪ! æt mˈoʊst, aɪv plˈʌkt sˌʌm ˈæpəl, lˈɛft tə ɹˈaɪpən nˌɪɹ ðə pˈʌblɪk wˈeɪ, jˈɛt wˈiːks ænd wˈiːks, ɪn dˈʌndʒənz lˈeɪd ɪnðə kˈɪŋz nˈeɪm, ðeɪ lˈɛt mˌiː pˈaɪn; ðeɪ stˈoʊl ðɪ ˈoʊnli wˈɛlθ aɪ hˈæd,   ðˌoʊ pˈʊɹ ænd ˈoʊld, ðə sˈʌn, æt lˈiːst, wʌz mˈaɪn.