Shakespeare was well known for his linguistic inventiveness, and one of his favorite tricks was taking pre-existing words and reusing them as different parts of speech, a process variously known as “semantic conversion,” “zero-derivation,” or “anthimeria.” And, more often than not, that process involved using nouns as if they were verbs—in fact, Shakespeare was the first writer to use words like cake, hinge, blanket, elbow, champion, humor, lapse, and petition as verbs, which is well worth remembering next time you try elbowing someone out of the way, or championing their cause.
Not all of Shakespeare’s “verbed” inventions caught on, however, which is why you’re unlikely to hear anyone saying that they have barbered themselves (he used barber to mean “to dress or trim a person’s hair” in Antony & Cleopatra), or that they have scarfed (“wrapped around”), bonneted (“removed a hat as a mark of respect”), bassed(“spoken in a deep voice”), or estated (“bestowed or bequeathed an estate”). But these are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to words you probably didn’t know could be used as verbs—so why not try dropping some of these into conversation?
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, tiger has two verb senses—you can use it to mean “To act, behave, or walk to and fro, like a tiger,” or, for obvious reasons, “To mark like a tiger with lines or streaks of contrasting colour.”
Using moon to mean exposing one’s backside dates back to the 1960s, but long before then, moon was being used as a verb variously meaning to move listlessly, to pass your time idly, or to daydream. All these earlier senses likely derive from the same root as words like moonstruck and lunatic, referring to the idea that the moon can have deranging effects on people.
Crab can be used to mean to move sideways, to nit-pick or complain, and to beat with a cudgel, referring to a crab-stick, a cane or club made from the wood of the crab-apple tree.
As a verb, horse can of course be used to mean to fool around or make fun of—as in horseplay and horsing about—but feel free to also use it to mean you’re carrying someone on your shoulders, or carrying something away forcefully, or working to the point of exhaustion.
The English novelist Elizabeth Gaskell used the word raccoon (in the form of raccooning) as a verb meaning “to wander about at night.”
Both magistrate and master derive from the Latin verb magistrare, meaning to rule or govern. Probably based on that, in 17th century English, magistrate was used as a verb meaning to dominate or behave domineeringly.
The Flemish Baroque artist Anthony van Dyck was so well known for his portraits of aristocratic figures wearing ornately-cut lace collars (like King Charles I) that in the 1700s, that particular style of collar (and, in the case of Charles I, that particular style of facial hair) came to be known as a Vandyke. And, alluding to the undulating, in-and-out shape of the collars, you can also use the word vandyke as a verb meaning to walk or travel in a zigzag.
Referring to the network of hexagonal “cells” in a beehive, you can use the word honeycomb to mean to weaken something by boring holes into it—either physically or metaphorically—or to become hollow or insubstantial.
Heavening might sound like a clumsy modern invention, but heaven has been used as a verb since the 17th century, meaning to (metaphorically) transport to heaven—in other words, to make someone extremely happy.
A century before it began to be used as the name of a bright yellow bird (native to the Canary Islands), the canary was a lively dance (native to the Canary Islands). As a consequence, you can use it as a verb meaning to dance in a lively manner. The Canary Islands themselves, incidentally, are named after dogs.
As a clipped form of deliver, you can use liver to mean to unload cargo, to surrender or hand over, or “to return to the person in authority a piece of work which one has finished.”
For understandable reasons, you can use spider to mean to ensnare or entrap—or, alternatively, to creep or walk like a spider.
As odd as it might sound, you can use the girl’s name Rebecca as a verb meaning to destroy a gate. It derives from a series of protests against toll gates (and general economic hardship) in the mid-19th century.
Because St. Peter is said to hold the keys to Heaven, in 19th century slang, his name came to be used in all kinds of different senses referring to locked or unopenable items. (Perhaps thanks to that key ingredient in gunpowder, saltpeter, it referenced how to break into them as well). So a peter was a till or a safe, a petermanwas a thief who steals baggage from vehicles, and a peter-hunter was a crowbar used to break the chains attaching luggage to carriages, a crime known as peter-claiming or the peter-drag. Similarly, as a verb you can use peter to mean “to use explosives,” or, should you ever need it, to blow the door off a safe.
Probably derived from the image of forcing a button into a narrow hole—or, according to the OED, as a corruption of the term button-hold, meaning to grab someone by the buttons—you can used the word buttonhole to mean to engage someone in a tedious or longwinded conversation against his or her will.