They are all adulterers, burning like an oven whose fire the baker need not stir from the kneading of the dough till it rises.
On the day of the festival of our king the princes become inflamed with wine, and he joins hands with the mockers.
Their hearts are like an oven; they approach him with intrigue. Their passion smolders all night; in the morning it blazes like a flaming fire.
All of them are hot as an oven; they devour their rulers. All their kings fall, and none of them calls on me.