“Who trips over my bridge?” roared the troll.

“Only the littlest Billy Goat Gruff,” said the little goat in his soft, small voice.

“Aha! I am going to come up and eat you,” said the troll.

“Oh, don’t eat me,” cried the Littlest Billy Goat Gruff. “My brother is coming after me, and he is much bigger than I.”

Look out, troll. It’s a trap!
 

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat the ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn that milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that ate the malt that that… no, worried the rat and killed the cat… that that… oh, bugger!

You could never get it right. You tried and tried but it was always beyond you—Rosely bursting her sides with laughter at every failure. She loved to bait you with tongue-twisters and befuddled you every time.
“Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper. Gowan, try it.”
“Peter Piper peck a pickled piddle…”
“No wonder you can’t read. You can’t even talk.”
“You better watch out or the Jabberwockle’ll getcha!”
“It’s Jabberwocky, you dummy.”
“Getcha anyway.”