Having had some proof of your kindness when I was last at Whitehall, makes me hope now that you will not refuse interceding for me with the King, being I know, though too late, how I have been misled; were I not clearly convinced of that, I would rather die a thousand deaths than say what I do. I writ yesterday to the King, and the chief business of my letter was to desire to speak to him, _for I have that to say to him that I am sure will set him at quiet for ever_. I am sure the whole study of my life shall hereafter be how to serve him; and _I am sure that which I can do is worth more than taking my life away_; and I am confident, if I may be so happy to speak to him, he will himself be convinced of it, _being I can give him such infallible proof of my truth to him that, though I would alter, it would not be in my power to do it_. This which I have now said, I hope will be enough to encourage your lordship to show me your favour, which I do earnestly desire of you and hope that you have so much generosity as not to refuse it. I hope, my lord, and I make no doubt of it, that you will not have cause to repent having saved my life, which I am sure you can do a great deal in if you please; being it obliges me to be entirely yours, which I shall ever be, as long as I have life. MONMOUTH. _For the Earl of Rochester, Lord High Treasurer of England._ Knowing that I had been involved in the miserable final adventure of that unhappy Prince, James Scot, Duke of Monmouth, and even been with him in that last Council in Bridgewater, my lord Rochester showed me this letter with a kind of languid malice, and even had the indecency to smile at it and address to me a remark slighting to the unfortunate writer of that desperate appeal. “For,” said he, “had Monmouth a secret to reveal, though ever so base a one, he had disclosed it to save his life–and since he disclosed nothing ’tis proof plain this was but a fool’s trick to catch mercy.”