John Trapp on Psalms 38:7

Verſ. 7.Faemora me[illegible: 1 letter] prorſus occupat atdens ulcus. Vat. In quit us eſt concupiſcentia, Theodoret. For my loyns are filled with a loothſome diſeaſe] The loins, thoſe ſeats of luſt, are now grievouſly inflamed and pained with ſome impoſtumated matter, or peſtilentiall carbuncle: Morbo viliſſim, quem nominare dedecet, ſaith Aben-Ezra. God oft puniſheth ſinne in kind, and ſpeaketh to the Conſcience in its own Language, that ſuch a ſickneſſe was the fruit of ſuch a ſin.

And there is no ſoundneſſe in my fleſh] Principium dulce eſt, ſed finis Amoris amarus, Lata venire Venus, triſtis abire ſolet.

Sinne is as the poyſen of Aſpes, which firſt tickleth him that is ſtung, and maketh him laugh: till by little and little, it gets to the heart, and then puts him to intollerable torture.