My inner being is shriveled up; my self-confidence crushed. Sick with fever, I’m left exhausted. Now I’m as cold as a corpse, and nothing is left inside me but great groaning filled with anguish.
Immediately, an angel of the Lord struck Herod with a sickness, an infestation of worms, because he accepted the people’s worship and didn’t give the glory to God, and he died.
For my days of happiness have gone up in smoke. My body is raging with fever, my heart is sick, and I’m consumed by this illness— withered like a dead leaf. I can’t even eat.