text_original: My busie gost, that thursteth alway newe ; To seen this Hour so yong, so fresh of hew, Constrained me, with so greedy desire, That in my herte I fele yet the fire, That made me rise ere it were day.
text_transcription: MY BUSY GHOST THAT THIRSTUS ALWAYS KNEWEL TO SEE IN THIS FLOOR SO YOUNG SO FRESH OF YOU CONSTRAINETH ME WITH SO GREEDY DESIRE THAT IN MY HEART I FEEL YET THE FIRE THAT MADE ME RISE ERE IT WERE DAY
phonemes: maɪ bˈɪzi ɡˈɑːst, ðæt θˈɜːstəθ ˈɔlweɪ nˈuː ; tə sˈiːn ðɪs ˈaʊɚ sˌoʊ jˈɑːŋ, sˌoʊ fɹˈɛʃ ʌv hjˈuː, kənstɹˈeɪnd mˌiː, wɪð sˌoʊ ɡɹˈiːdi dɪzˈaɪɚ, ðæt ɪn maɪ hˈɜːt aɪ fˈiːl jˈɛt ðə fˈaɪɚ, ðæt mˌeɪd mˌiː ɹˈaɪz ˈɛɹ ɪt wɜː dˈeɪ.