For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: and there is no soundness in my flesh.
And said to the king, Let the king live for ever: 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?
By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: it binds me about as the collar of my coat.
My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and has become loathsome.
For my days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as a hearth.
An evil disease, say they, holds him firmly: and now that he lies he shall rise up no more.
And immediately the angel of the Lord struck him, because he did not give God the glory: and he was eaten by worms, and gave up the ghost.