text_original: "For know, when sick'ning grief doth prey, And tender love's repaid with scorn, The sweetest beauty will decay,   What floweret can endure the storm? "At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne, Where every lady's passing rare, That Eastern flowers, that shame the sun, Are not so glowing, not so fair.
text_transcription: FOR NOW WHEN SICKENING GRIEF DOTH PRAY AND TENDER LOVES REPAID WITH SCORN THE SWEETEST BEAUTY WILL DECAY WHAT FLOWER IT CAN ENDURE THE STORM AT COURT I'M TOLD IS BEAUTY'S THRONE WHERE EVERY LADY'S PASSING RARE THAT EASTERN FLOWERS THAT SHAME THE SUN ARE NOT SO GLOWING NOT SO FAIR
phonemes: "fɔːɹ nˈoʊ, wˌɛn sˈɪknɪŋ ɡɹˈiːf dʌθ pɹˈeɪ, ænd tˈɛndɚ lˈʌvz ɹᵻpˈeɪd wɪð skˈɔːɹn, ðə swˈiːɾɪst bjˈuːɾi wɪl dᵻkˈeɪ,   wˌʌt flˈaʊɚɹət kæn ɛndˈʊɹ ðə stˈɔːɹm? "æt kˈɔːɹt, aɪm tˈoʊld, ɪz bjˈuːɾiz θɹˈoʊn, wˌɛɹ ˈɛvɹi lˈeɪdiz pˈæsɪŋ ɹˈɛɹ, ðæt ˈiːstɚn flˈaʊɚz, ðæt ʃˈeɪm ðə sˈʌn, ɑːɹ nˌɑːt sˌoʊ ɡlˈoʊɪŋ, nˌɑːt sˌoʊ fˈɛɹ.