To spare her traitorous love. But we have arts

Which these barbarians know not, quenchless fires

Which in one moment can enwrap their stronghold

In one red ring of ruin. My counsel is,

That ere the hour of midnight comes we place

Around the palace walls on every side

Such store of fuel and oils and cunning drugs

As at one sign may leap a wall of fire

Impassable, and burn these hateful traitors

Like hornets in their nest.