A crooked log makes a strait fire [A crooked log makes a straight fire.]

Well may hee smell fire, whose gowne burnes. [Well may he smell fire, whose gown burns.]

Not till the fire is dying in the grate, / Look we for any kinship with the stars.

I don't know anything about any vacancies. We hire and fire the president only.

A petrol bomb was thrown down the turret. It was on fire basically from the back.

My face was on fire,