A point of hard fortune

A thiefe, that of a Ramme had gelt the Flock,
And ty'd him 'bout his necke, upon a Rocke
Laid his fat load, intending there to rest
His weary shoulders: but the captive beast
Straining and struggling for release, at last
Beyond the pointed stone his body cast,
Whose weight crusht out the fellons breath anon,
That was both strangely hang'd, and dy'd o'th' Stone.