text_original: Ye rich, who bade me toil for bread, Of bones your tables gave me store, Your straw has often made my bed;   In death I lay no curses at your door.
text_transcription: YOU WITCH WHO BADE ME TOIL FOR BREAD OF BONES YOUR TABLES GAVE ME STORE YOUR STRAW HAS OFTEN MADE MY BED IN DEATH I LAY NO CURSES AT YOUR DOOR
phonemes: jiː ɹˈɪtʃ, hˌuː bˈeɪd mˌiː tˈɔɪl fɔːɹ bɹˈɛd, ʌv bˈoʊnz jʊɹ tˈeɪbəlz ɡˈeɪv mˌiː stˈɔːɹ, jʊɹ stɹˈɔː hɐz ˈɔfən mˌeɪd maɪ bˈɛd;   ɪn dˈɛθ aɪ lˈeɪ nˈoʊ kˈɜːsᵻz æt jʊɹ dˈɔːɹ.