text_original: It was St. John, the poet tells us, who " mingles with my friendly bowl " that feast of reason and flow of soul which until our own days, and quite lately, became too much the recognized property of after dinner orators.
text_transcription: IT WAS SAINT JOHN THE POET TELLS US WHO MINGLES WITH MY FRIENDLY BOWL THAT FEAST OF REASON AND FLOW OF SOUL WHICH UNTIL OUR OWN DAYS AND QUITE LATELY BECAME TOO MUCH THE RECOGNIZED PROPERTY OF AFTER DINNER ORATORS
phonemes: ɪt wʌz sənt. dʒˈɑːn, ðə pˈoʊɪt tˈɛlz ˌʌs, hˈuː " mˈɪŋɡəlz wɪð maɪ fɹˈɛndli bˈoʊl " ðæt fˈiːst ʌv ɹˈiːzən ænd flˈoʊ ʌv sˈoʊl wˌɪtʃ ʌntˈɪl ˌaʊɚɹ ˈoʊn dˈeɪz, ænd kwˈaɪt lˈeɪtli, bɪkˌeɪm tˈuː mʌtʃ ðə ɹˈɛkəɡnˌaɪzd pɹˈɑːpɚɾi ʌv ˈæftɚ dˈɪnɚɹ ˈɔːɹəɾɚz.