The Debate of the Carpenter's Tools

Below is the famous late fifteenth century poem depicting the tools of a carpenter engaged in debate. I was determined to find it when i read a blog post by Christopher Schwarz that mentioned this poem in passing as being included in an older book by Roy Underhill. For a helpful introduction to the poem, click here. Below is the brief forward by James Orchard Halliwell from his 1844 edition of the poem, included in the volume Nugae Poetica: Select Pieces of Old English Popular Poetry, Illustrating the Manners and Arts of Fifteenth Century. I think the title of his book is longer than his little blurb on our poem, but here it is for your enjoyment.

Addendum: Since scrolling all the way down for the footnotes is a royal pain, they're included after every relevant page, but i decided to leave the entire list at the bottom, as well.

1 Shype-Ax. Most likely an ax used for chipping or trimming. See MED, “chip-ax.”

3 Clene hose and clene schone. The sense of these lines appears to be “I will earn you food and drink, but you’ll have to work harder to earn yourself clothing.”

6 Thall. “Thou will.” See MED, “thou.”

7 longys the crafte. Crafte may here refer to the profession of carpenters in general, or the local craft guild of carpenters more specifically.

9 Belte. An “allet maul, hammer; also, a bat or club.” See MED, “betel.”

13 Twybyll. A “kind of ax with two cutting edges; formerly used for cutting mor tices”; see OED, “twibill,” 1.

17 Wymbyll. A name applied to several different kinds of boring tools; see OED, “wimble.”

22 twenti pounde. This is an outlandish sum, perhaps double the amount of an ex perienced master carpenter’s yearly wages.


31 Groping-Iren. A chisel or gouge.

43 ale-wyffe. Brewing ale was a common household industry for women.

48 twenti merke. A mark was two-thirds of a pound; since the Whetstone is speaking of yearly wages, this boast seems more plausible.

53 Adys. An adze is an ax-like tool with a curved blade, used for cutting away wood.

77 seven pens drynke. Seven pence, the rough equivalent of a carpenter’s daily wages, would purchase up to seven gallons of ale (depending on its strength), a comic ally extravagant amount.

79 Lyne and the Chalke. Strings coated in chalk are still used by carpenters for drawing lines on wood to be cut.

87 Prykyng Knyfe. MED and OED quote only this line; if not an awl, this tool is likely to be some other instrument for marking wood.

93 Persore. “An awl, a gimlet, an auger”; see MED, “percer(e).” Lines 100–04 sug gest that this is a drill.

106 schyreff of the toune. Sheriffs originally had considerable local authority in admin istering the royal legal system, but by the later Middle Ages, their impor tance had waned. Nevertheless, the job was typically held by minor gentry, and being ap pointed sheriff would be an honor considerably beyond the hopes of carpenters.

107 Skantyllyon. A gauge, used for measuring the depth of mortises (recesses made in wood for joinery).

120 drynke never peny. A penny’s worth of ale might vary between one-third and one gallon.

139 Brode-Ax. Salzman describes this as “made with a chisel edge, beveled only on one side, which enabled it to follow a marked line accurately” (Building in England, p. 342).

145 Twyvete. Uncertain. OED suggests that this is a double-edged axe, via an etymology endorsed by Wilson (“Debate of the Carpenter’s Tools,” p. 406). Salzman argues plausibly that the tool is a mallet (Building in England, p. 344).

162 a knyght. Though late medieval knighthood was a marker of wealth rather than birth, carpenters would have been extremely unlikely to rise to this rank. The Windlass’s disbelief in lines 167–68 is entirely justified.

163 Wyndas-Rewle. A windlass is an axle or roller used for winding or moving.

179 The devyles dyrte. This expression appears in the Towneley Plays, in the Play of the Buffeting, ed. England, p. 233, line 170. The sense of the insult is “something wretched or excremental.”

183 This seven yere. The customary duration of an apprenticeship.

199 Nother the mayster ne the man. I.e., “neither the master nor his apprentices and journeymen.”

221 Draught Nayle. Uncertain. MED and Salzman suggest that this is a punch for countersinking nails (Building in England, p. 345). Wilson argues that the etymol ogy favors the interpretation of the phrase as a nail-drawer (“Debate of the Carpen ter’s Tools,” p. 468).

279 hym that it dud make. See the introduction to this item.

Footnotes and Textual Notes:

Item 16, THE DEBATE OF THE CARPENTER’S TOOLS: FOOTNOTE

1 If he ever thrives, then he bears himself well [Presumably ironic]

Item 16, THE DEBATE OF THE CARPENTER’S TOOLS: EXPLANATORY NOTES

Abbreviations: MED: Middle English Diction ary; OED: The Oxford English Dictionary;

Title No title or incipit. Halliwell, the poem’s first editor, gave the poem this title, which has been favored in subsequent references. The text begins one-quarter down the page of fol. 23r, with no space separating it from the previous item.

1 Shype-Ax. Most likely an ax used for chipping or trimming. See MED, “chip-ax.”

3 Clene hose and clene schone. The sense of these lines appears to be “I will earn you food and drink, but you’ll have to work harder to earn yourself clothing.”

6 Thall. “Thou will.” See MED, “thou.”

7 longys the crafte. Crafte may here refer to the profession of carpenters in general, or the local craft guild of carpenters more specifically.

9 Belte. An “allet maul, hammer; also, a bat or club.” See MED, “betel.”

13 Twybyll. A “kind of ax with two cutting edges; formerly used for cutting mor tices”; see OED, “twibill,” 1.

17 Wymbyll. A name applied to several different kinds of boring tools; see OED, “wimble.”

22 twenti pounde. This is an outlandish sum, perhaps double the amount of an ex perienced master carpenter’s yearly wages.

31 Groping-Iren. A chisel or gouge.

43 ale-wyffe. Brewing ale was a common household industry for women.

48 twenti merke. A mark was two-thirds of a pound; since the Whetstone is speaking of yearly wages, this boast seems more plausible.

53 Adys. An adze is an ax-like tool with a curved blade, used for cutting away wood.

77 seven pens drynke. Seven pence, the rough equivalent of a carpenter’s daily wages, would purchase up to seven gallons of ale (depending on its strength), a comic ally extravagant amount.

79 Lyne and the Chalke. Strings coated in chalk are still used by carpenters for drawing lines on wood to be cut.

87 Prykyng Knyfe. MED and OED quote only this line; if not an awl, this tool is likely to be some other instrument for marking wood.

93 Persore. “An awl, a gimlet, an auger”; see MED, “percer(e).” Lines 100–04 sug gest that this is a drill.

106 schyreff of the toune. Sheriffs originally had considerable local authority in admin istering the royal legal system, but by the later Middle Ages, their impor tance had waned. Nevertheless, the job was typically held by minor gentry, and being ap pointed sheriff would be an honor considerably beyond the hopes of carpenters.

107 Skantyllyon. A gauge, used for measuring the depth of mortises (recesses made in wood for joinery).

120 drynke never peny. A penny’s worth of ale might vary between one-third and one gallon.

139 Brode-Ax. Salzman describes this as “made with a chisel edge, beveled only on one side, which enabled it to follow a marked line accurately” (Building in England, p. 342).

145 Twyvete. Uncertain. OED suggests that this is a double-edged axe, via an etymology endorsed by Wilson (“Debate of the Carpenter’s Tools,” p. 406). Salzman argues plausibly that the tool is a mallet (Building in England, p. 344).

162 a knyght. Though late medieval knighthood was a marker of wealth rather than birth, carpenters would have been extremely unlikely to rise to this rank. The Windlass’s disbelief in lines 167–68 is entirely justified.

163 Wyndas-Rewle. A windlass is an axle or roller used for winding or moving.

179 The devyles dyrte. This expression appears in the Towneley Plays, in the Play of the Buffeting, ed. England, p. 233, line 170. The sense of the insult is “something wretched or excremental.”

183 This seven yere. The customary duration of an apprenticeship.

199 Nother the mayster ne the man. I.e., “neither the master nor his apprentices and journeymen.”

221 Draught Nayle. Uncertain. MED and Salzman suggest that this is a punch for countersinking nails (Building in England, p. 345). Wilson argues that the etymol ogy favors the interpretation of the phrase as a nail-drawer (“Debate of the Carpen ter’s Tools,” p. 468).

279 hym that it dud make. See the introduction to this item.

Item 16, THE DEBATE OF THE CARPENTER’S TOOLS: TEXTUAL NOTES

Abbreviations: see Explanatory Notes

1 MS: Initial T is two lines tall.

4 wheresoever. MS: wherasever.

8 nothyng. MS: nothnyng.

12 clothe and fede. MS: clothe fede.

41 dey and nyght. MS: dey nyght.

82 thryve. MS: thryv.

124 hym owght. MS: hy owght.

183 prentys. MS: puntys.

224 mayster. MS: maystys.

237 wyrke not. MS: wyrke no.

245 Groping Iren. MS: iren is added above the rest of the line.

268 off. MS: of.

279 gest. MS: yet. Wilson’s emendation.

C.S. Lewis on Good Works and Good Work

I recently came across the passage below by CS Lewis in The Joyful Christian (it's a book full of snippets; by clicking on the title of this entry you will be directed to the whole piece) and i found it interesting that he lists cabinetmakers amongst the last bastions of craftsmanship. He even goes into (some) details, when describing 'real honest-to-God work': 'sound structures; seasoned wood, accurately dovetailed, the stresses all calculated; skill and labour successfully used to do what is intended...'

This piece also resonated with me particularly in light of the discussions on a previous post about the religious community's role in environmentalism. Lewis proclaims, 'Let choirs sing well or not at all', reminding us that focussing on the 'real' thing is no excuse for doing things half-assed. Anyway, here is the piece:

'Good Works' in the plural is an expression much more familiar to modern Christendom than 'good work.' Good works are chiefly almsgiving or 'helping' in the parish. They are quite separate from one's 'work.' And good works need not be good work, as anyone can see by inspecting some of the objects made to be sold at bazaars for charitable purposes. This is not according to our example. When our Lord provided a poor wedding party with an extra glass of wine all around, he was doing good works. But also good work; it was a wine really worth drinking. Nor is the neglect of goodness in our 'work,' our job, according to precept. The apostle says everyone must not only work but work to produce what is 'good.'

The idea of Good Work is not quite extinct among us, though it is not, I fear, especially characteristic of religious people. I have found it among cabinetmakers, cobblers, and sailors. It is no use at all trying to impress sailors with a new liner because she is the biggest or costliest ship afloat. They look for what they call her 'lines': they predict how she will behave in a heavy sea. Artists also talk of Good Work; but decreasingly. They begin to prefer words like 'significant,' 'important', 'contemporary,' or 'daring.' These are not, to my mind, good symptoms.

But the great mass of men in all fully industrialised societies are the victims of a situation which almost excludes the idea of Good Work from the outset. 'Built-in obsolescence' becomes an economic necessity. Unless an article is so made that it will go to pieces in a year or two and thus have to be replaced, you will not get a sufficient turnover. A hundred years ago, when a man got married, he had built for him (if he were rich enough) a carriage in which he expected to drive for the rest of his life. He now buys a car which he expects to sell again in two years. Work nowadays must not be good.

For the wearer, zip fasteners have this advantage over buttons: that, while they last, they will save him an infinitesimal amount of time and trouble. For the producer, they have a much more solid merit; they don't remain in working order long. Bad work is the desideratum.

We must avoid taking a glibly moral view of this situation. It is not solely the result of original or actual sin. It has stolen upon us, unforeseen and unintended. The degraded commercialism of our minds is quite as much its result as its cause. Nor can it, in my opinion, be cured by purely moral efforts.

I guess when you think about it, the precedent for Good Works is in the first chapter of Genesis:

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים, כִּי-טוֹב--and God saw that it was good.'

Ricky Gervais expounds on Good Work in Genesis:

Mindfulness, Meditation, Paradox and Purim

When engaging in woodworking, the mind tends to wander, to philosophise about the actions being undertaken and how they reflect the more obscure ideas reflected upon in the library. Rousseau said something to the effect of, "Put a young man in a workshop, his hands will work to the benefit of his brain, and he will become a philosopher while thinking himself only a craftsman." Roy Underhill's meditation on woodworking (Episode 7--'The Spirit of Woodcraft') is an interesting (and humorous--excellent Python reference in there) example of how immersing one's self in the physicality of these abstract ideas provides another angle.

Paradox abounds in the workshop--coming to understand it is the learning process and the 'journey' every student must take. After being frustrated, you learn that in order to tighten the plane iron cap, you must loosen it; in order to saw harder, you must loosen your grip. You must live or experience the paradox in order to figure it out. But it stays with you in a way that is very different from the fleeting grasping of paradox which exists in, say, Metaphysical poetry. John Donne understood the importance of the mundane, and filled his poetry with what many people would call not-so-romantic, or perhaps even nerdy imagery. His famous poem 'A Valediction Forbidding Mourning' is his meditation on spiritual love that endures despite the physical separation of the lovers and...a compass. Huh? There's no way this guy did well with the ladies if he compared them to school supplies (obviously Donne would've done well with this lady--i think this is the most romantic poem EVER. Plus, romantic poetry and hand tools? I don't think it gets any better than that! But i digress.) Donne's immersion in the physical, and his meditation on disparate things drove Samuel Johnson up the wall, and he wrote the following about Donne's poetry: 'The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations, comparisons, and allusions; their learning instructs, and their subtlety surprises; but the reader commonly thinks his improvement dearly bought and, though he sometimes admires, is seldom pleased.'

It has been noted that Donne's most romantic poems are spiritual, whilst his most spiritual poems are sexual. Donne's mixing of registers and his love for paradoxical conceits makes him a joy (albeit challenging) to read.

This brings me back to Underhill. One thing that struck me was his commentary on sharpening. Underhill notes that sharpening is a very Zen-like activity because its aim is nothingness. Instead of aiming for a gleaming microbevel, when sharpening chisels and planes, what you really want to see is nothing. When you see nothing, you have something. But if you see something (gleaming edge), you have nothing.

The mysterious paradox of sharpening, the meditative qualities associated with it, and the goal of bringing two 'faces' together evoke, for me, the idea of מצוות--mitzvot as actions for Jews to realise or physically meditate on God's unity, in the way that sharpening or Japanese tea ceremonies achieve that end. This may be a bit silly and have no grammatical basis whatsoever, but i was wondering if the words חד (chad )-sharp and אחד (echad )--one are connected. Not to digress to much, but the idea of God's unity is an appropriate abridgment of Judaism. Our main prayer שמע ישראל ה" אלוקינו ה" אחד: 'Hear, O Israel: the Lord is our God, the Lord is One' is recited several times daily, and is also the preparatory prayer for death.

A point of contention between Christians and Jews are the mitzvot. The Jews' immersion in the mundane was scoffed at by Christian polemicists. Indeed, a recurring theme in the polemics is that the Jews represent the physical foreshadowing of the more spiritual Christianity. Jeremy Taylor's sermon on spiritual zeal is one of many early modern examples.

The Divinely mandated immersion in the physical is perhaps a mitzvah of imitateo dei. In straddling the physical and spiritual worlds, we are emulating God; this is an alternative to the approach that being like God requires shunning our physicality. Donne's grappling with the physical and spiritual in pursuing his relationship with God is illustrated by the presence of paradox which pervades his Holy Sonnet XIV .

As Underhill reminds us, the great mind is capable of seeing the simplicity behind the confusion, of understanding the paradox. Purim is certainly a paradoxical holiday. Nothing in the narrative is what it seems. Everything is hidden, and it is Esther’s ability to see God’s hand at work and to act in an almost equally hidden way that is celebrated. This day of indulging in earthly pleasures, proceeded by a day of fasting is often compared to what appears to be its deepest opposite--Yom Kippur, a day of refraining from earthly pleasures, proceeded by a feast in preparation of the fast. We are commanded to get so drunk that we can’t distinguish between Haman the villain and Mordechai, the hero. Yet, our sages explain that a degree of mindfulness can come out of getting to a place in which we really don’t seem to be using our minds. All of the mitzvot on Purim seem to have the same goal in mind—unity. The Seuda (festive meal), or breaking bread, is one of the oldest sociological means of bonding. The public reading of the megilla unites us in witnessing the Purim narrative. Mishloach Manot (exchanging gifts of food) makes us feel closer to one another. Additionally, the tradition of sending two types of foods (necessitating two blessings) is a reminder that we recognise God’s varying capacities as Creator, and assemble it in one package. Matanot Laevyonim (giving charity) is an act which seeks to redress the economic differences between members of society.

Perhaps Purim is a day in which (with the help of that great social lubricant, alcohol) we can be like the angel in Titian’s ‘Sacred and Profane Love’ who stirs the well, mingling the boundaries between sacred and profane, attaining unity in paradox, through joyfulness, which, like sharpening-bringing two faces together (rectifying hester panim)-and unity comes from a root which sounds similar-- חדד. Well, it's a bit of a stretch, but still, one day out of the year, we get to walk in that no-man's land, to experience a Divine unity, to find the centre, or our centre (as our senseis tell us)...and hopefully not have an equally powerful hangover...