Henry Purcell Oh solitude Oh solitude, my sweetest choice! əʊ ˈsɒlɪtjuːd | maɪ ˈswiːtɪs(t) tʃɔɪs | Places devoted to the night, ˈpleɪsɪz dɪˈvəʊtɪd tə ðə naɪt | Remote from tumult and from noise, rɪˈməʊt frəm ˈtjuːmʌlt ən(d) frəm nɔɪz | How ye my restless thoughts delight! haʊ jiː maɪ ˈrestləs θɔːts dɪˈlaɪt | Oh solitude, my sweetest choice! əʊ ˈsɒlɪtjuːd | maɪ ˈswiːtɪs(t) tʃɔɪs | Oh Heav'ns! what content is mine əʊ hevnz | wɒt kənˈtent ɪz maɪn | To see these trees, which have appear'd tə siː ðiːz triːz | wɪtʃ həv əpɪəd | From the nativity of time, frəm ðə nəˈtɪvəti əv taɪm | And which all ages have rever'd, ən(d) wɪtʃ ɔːl ˈeɪdʒɪz həv rivɪəd | To look today as fresh and green tə lʊk təˈdeɪ əz freʃ ən(d) ɡriːn | As when their beauties first were seen əz wen ðeə ˈbjuːtiz fɜːs(t) wə siːn | Oh, how agreeable a sight əʊ | haʊ əˈɡriːəbl̩ ə saɪt | These hanging mountains appear, ðiːz ˈhæŋɪŋ ˈmaʊntɪnz du: əˈpɪə | Which the unhappy would invite wɪtʃ ði ʌnˈhæpi wʊd ɪnˈvaɪt | To finish all their sorrows here, tə ˈfɪnɪʃ ɔːl ðeə ˈsɒrəʊz hɪə | When their hard fate makes them endure wen ðeə hɑːd feɪt meɪks ðəm ɪnˈdjʊə | Such woes as only death can cure sʌtʃ wəʊz əz ˈəʊnli deθ kən kjʊə | Oh, how I solitude adore! əʊ | ha(ʊ) aɪ ˈsɒlɪtjuːd əˈdɔː | That element of noblest wit, ðæt ˈelɪmənt əv ˈnəʊblɪs(t) wɪt | Where I have learnt Apollo's lore, weər aɪ həv lɜːnt əˈpɒləʊz lɔː | Without the pains to study it wɪðˈaʊt ðə peɪnz tə ˈstʌdi ɪt | For thy sake I in love am grown fə ðaɪ seɪk a(ɪ) ɪn lʌv əm ɡrəʊn | With what thy fancy does pursue; But when I think upon my own,  I hate it for that reason too, Because it needs must hinder me From seeing and from serving thee Oh solitude, Oh how I solitude adore! Katherine Philips wɪð wɒt ðaɪ ˈfænsi dʌz pəˈsjuː | bət wen aɪ θɪŋk əˈpɒn ma(ɪ) əʊn | aɪ heɪt ɪt fə ðæt ˈriːzən tuː | bɪˈkɒz ɪt niːdz məs(t) ˈhɪndə mi | frəm ˈsiːɪŋ ən(d) frəm ˈsɜːvɪŋ ðiː | əʊ ˈsɒlɪtjuːd | əʊ ha(ʊ) aɪ ˈsɒlɪtjuːd əˈdɔː | ˈkæθrɪn ˈfɪlɪps |