text_original: " I implore you," she cries, '' to believe that whatsoever I can do in your service, were it to scatter to the winds the ashes of my bones, nothing would be to me either strange, or difficult, or painful, but conso  lation, repose, and honor.
text_transcription: I IMPLORE YOU SHE CRIES TO BELIEVE THAT WHATSOEVER I CAN DO IN YOUR SERVICE WERE IT TO SCATTER TO THE WINDS THE ASHES OF MY BONES NOTHING WOULD BE TO ME EITHER STRANGE OR DIFFICULT OR PAINFUL BUT CONSOLATION REPOSE AND HONOUR
phonemes: " aɪ ɪmplˈɔːɹ juː," ʃiː kɹˈaɪz, tə bᵻlˈiːv ðæt wʌtsˌoʊˈɛvɚɹ aɪ kæn dˈuː ɪn jʊɹ sˈɜːvɪs, wɜːɹ ɪt tə skˈæɾɚ tə ðə wˈɪndz ðɪ ˈæʃᵻz ʌv maɪ bˈoʊnz, nˈʌθɪŋ wʊd biː tə mˌiː ˈiːðɚ stɹˈeɪndʒ, ɔːɹ dˈɪfɪkəlt, ɔːɹ pˈeɪnfəl, bˌʌt kˈɑːnsoʊ lˈeɪʃən, ɹᵻpˈoʊz, ænd ˈɑːnɚ.