æt ðɪ ˈɛnd ʌvðə sˈɛvən jˈɪɹz, ðə fˈaʊntɪnz wɜː ɹˈʌnɪŋ dɹˈaɪ, ænd ɐn ˈoʊɡɹɛs kˈeɪm tə tˈeɪk ðə lˈæst wɪð ɐ spˈʌndʒ ænd pˈɪtʃɚ.
At the end of the seven years, the fountains were running dry, and an ogress came to take the last with a sponge and pitcher.