What's in a name?

She's spread to please not invoke emnity;
For she's a slave to passion through and through.
What will she do? She will advance on hand
And knee, crawling to where I'd wish to see
Her possessed by a man. Enslaved by names:
A pet, a bitch, a toy, a slut, a cunt -
All may endear her to me though she'll cringe
And bear each word as if it were the lash
That marks her back, her thighs, her breasts as mine
What's in a name? That which we call a cunt
By any other name could feel as tight;
As would her rose, were it not called a rose.
Retaining imperfections that I mark
With slash of whip; I'll have humility
Spread like her thighs.

(shakespeare turns slowly in his grave)