Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water.

This line is spoken by Cleopatra in Shakespeare’s tragedy *Antony and Cleopatra* (c. 1606–1607). She reflects bitterly on how public memory and political record tend to preserve scandal, failure, and “evil manners” more durably than goodness. In the play’s late action, Cleopatra is acutely aware that Roman victors will control the narrative of her life and Antony’s, turning them into cautionary tales or propaganda. The image contrasts the permanence of inscriptions in metal (brass) with the vanishing trace of writing on water, capturing her fear that whatever nobility or love she and Antony possessed will be quickly erased or denied by hostile historians and rumor.

The couplet laments an asymmetry in reputation: vices are remembered, repeated, and “engraved,” while virtues are fragile and easily forgotten. “Brass” evokes monuments, official inscriptions, and the hard permanence of public record; “water” suggests impermanence and the impossibility of preserving a mark. Shakespeare uses the metaphor to dramatize how history is written by power and appetite—people relish moral failure and preserve it as a lesson or entertainment, while quiet goodness leaves little trace. In *Antony and Cleopatra*, the thought also underscores tragedy’s concern with legacy: the lovers’ grandeur may be reduced to caricature, their best qualities washed away by the narratives of their enemies.