For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: and there is no soundness in my flesh.
And immediately the angel of the Lord smote him, because he gave not God the glory: and he was eaten of worms, and died.
For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as a hearth.
An evil disease, say they, clings close unto him: and now that he lies down he shall rise up no more.
My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome.
By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: it binds me about as the collar of my coat.
And said unto the king, Let the king live forever: why should not my countenance be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers’ sepulchers, lies waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire?