Classic Poem

In silver streame, on shallow fountaines shelfe,
The lively image saw he in the same,
Who was in love with shadow of himselfe,
Through pride, forgetfull how his likenes came:
Such one my selfe (by chance) I see to bee,
When as in River I my selfe did see.
Yet I, my selfe in sted of loving hate,
And such strange hatred is this, and so strong,
That while he (loving) dyde by justest Fate
Himselfe by seeing, (whilst he himselfe did wrong):
I die will unto him contrarie cleene,
Cause I (hating my self) my self too much have seene.