Strong evidence of loose construction and lack of a technical dramatic
ideal is contained in the large number of scenes padded out with pointless
badinage, often tiresome, often wholly episodical in nature, as the
monodies, and putting for a time a complete check on the plot. The most
striking of these is _Aul._ 631 ff., when Euclio, suspecting Strobilus of
the theft of his gold, pounces upon him and belabors him:
"STR. (_Howling and dancing and making violent efforts to free himself._)
What the plague has got hold of you? What have you to do with me, you
dotard? Why pick on me? Why are you grabbing me? Don't beat me! (_Succeeds
in breaking loose._)
EUC. (_Shaking stick at him._) You first-class jailbird, do you dare ask
me again? You're not a thief, but three thieves rolled into one!
STR. (_Whining and nursing bruises_) What did I steal from you?
EUC. (_Still threatening._) Give it back here, I say?
STR. (_Trembling and edging off._) What is it you want me to give back?
EUC. (_Watching him narrowly._) You ask?
STR. I tell you, I didn't take a thing from you.
EUC. (_Impatiently._) All right, but hand over what you did take!
(_Pause._) Well, well!
STR. Well, what?
EUC. You can't get away with it.
STR. (_Bolder._) Look here, what do you want?...
EUC. (_Angrier and angrier._) Hand it over, I say! Stop quibbling! I'm not
trifling now!
STR. Now what shall I hand over? Speak out! Why don't you give the thing a
name? I swear I never touched or handled anything of yours.
EUC. Put out your hands.
STR. There you are! I've done so. See them?
EUC. (_Scrutinizing his hands closely._) All right. Now put out the third
too.
STR. (_Aside, growing angry._) The foul fiends of madness have possessed
this doddering idiot. (_Majestically._) Confess you wrong me?
EUC. (_Dancing in frenzy._) To the utmost, since I don't have you strung
up! And that's what'll happen too, if you don't confess.
STR. (_Shouting._) Confess what?