in Troubled Waters
A Fisherman had order'd his Net for a Draught, and still as he was gathering it up, he dash'd the Water, to fright the Fish into the Bag. Some of the Neighbourhood that look'd on, told him that he did ill to muddle the Water so, and spoil their Drink. Well (says he) but I must either Spoil your Drink, or have nothing to Eat my self.
There's no Engaging the Mobile in a Sedition, till their Heads are so muddled first with Frights and Visions, that they can neither See, Hear, nor Understand.