“Sir,—­Your majesty may think it the misfortune I now lie under makes me make this application to you; but I do assure your majesty, it is the remorse I now have in me of the wrong I have done you in several things, and now in taking up arms against you.  For my taking up arms, it was never in my thought since the king died:  the Prince and Princess of Orange will be witness for me of the assurance I gave them, that I would never stir against you.  But my misfortune was such as to meet with some horrid people, that made me believe things of your majesty, and gave me so many false arguments, that I was fully led away to believe that it was a shame and a sin before God not to do it.  But, sir, I will not trouble your majesty at present with many things I could say for myself, that I am sure would move your compassion; the chief end of this letter being only to beg of you, that I may have that happiness as to speak to your majesty; for I have that to say to you, sir, that I hope may give you a long and happy reign.

“I am sure, sir, when you hear me, you will be convinced of the zeal I have of your preservation, and how heartily I repent of what I have done.  I can say no more to your majesty now, being this letter must be seen by those that keep me.  Therefore, sir, I shall make an end in begging of your majesty to believe so well of me, that I would rather die a thousand deaths than excuse anything I have done, if I did not really think myself the most in the wrong that ever a man was, and had not from the bottom of my heart an abhorrence for those that put me upon it, and for the action itself.  I hope, sir, God Almighty will strike your heart with mercy and compassion for me, as he has done mine with the abhorrence of what I have done:  wherefore, sir, I hope I may live to show you how zealous I shall ever be for your service; and could I but say one word in this letter, you would be convinced of it; but it is of that consequence, that I dare not do it.  Therefore, sir, I do beg of you once more to let me speak to you; for then you will be convinced how much I shall ever be, your majesty’s most humble and dutiful

“Monmouth.”

The only certain conclusion to be drawn from this letter, which Mr. Echard, in a manner perhaps not so seemly for a Churchman, terms submissive, is, that Monmouth still wished anxiously for life, and was willing to save it, even at the cruel price of begging and receiving it as a boon from his enemy.  Ralph conjectures with great probability that this unhappy man’s feelings were all governed by his excessive affection for his mistress and that a vain hope of enjoying, with Lady Harriet Wentworth, that retirement which he had so unwillingly abandoned, induced him to adopt a conduct, which he might otherwise have considered as indecent.  At any rate it must be admitted that to cling to life is a strong instinct in human nature, and Monmouth might reasonably enough satisfy himself, that when his death could not by any possibility benefit either the public or his friends, to follow such instinct, even in a manner that might tarnish the splendour of heroism, was no impeachment of the moral virtue of a man.