text_original: But in the end the poor monk, feeUng his heart melt before the abundant tears of his darling (as one who sees Love, the cruel archer, whose wound he has long suffered from, make ready his golden arrow to strike him in a fresh and mortal part), even so he fled away from Love and his Beloved, as though the only force left to him lay in flight.
text_transcription: BUT IN THE END THE POOR MONK FEELING HIS HEART MELT BEFORE THE ABUNDANT TEARS OF HIS DARLING AS ONE WHO SEES LOVE THE CRUEL ARCHER WHOSE WOUND HE HAS LONG SUFFERED FROM MAKE READY HIS GOLDEN ARROW TO STRIKE HIM IN A FRESH AND MORTAL PART EVEN SO HE FLED AWAY FROM LOVE AND HIS BELOVED AS THOUGH THE ONLY FORCE LEFT TO HIM LAY IN FLIGHT
phonemes: bˌʌt ɪnðɪ ˈɛnd ðə pˈʊɹ mˈʌŋk, fˈiː ˈʌŋ hɪz hˈɑːɹt mˈɛlt bᵻfˌɔːɹ ðɪ ɐbˈʌndənt tˈɪɹz ʌv hɪz dˈɑːɹlɪŋ (æz wˈʌn hˌuː sˈiːz lˈʌv, ðə kɹˈuːəl ˈɑːɹtʃɚ, hˌuːz wˈuːnd hiː hɐz lˈɔŋ sˈʌfɚd fɹʌm, mˌeɪk ɹˈɛdi hɪz ɡˈoʊldən ˈæɹoʊ tə stɹˈaɪk hˌɪm ɪn ɐ fɹˈɛʃ ænd mˈɔːɹɾəl pˈɑːɹt), ˈiːvən sˌoʊ hiː flˈɛd ɐwˈeɪ fɹʌm lˈʌv ænd hɪz bᵻlˈʌvd, æz ðˌoʊ ðɪ ˈoʊnli fˈɔːɹs lˈɛft tə hˌɪm lˈeɪ ɪn flˈaɪt.